Let It Be
by Beatle44
Summary: In need of a spark to reignite her passion for life, Dr. Callie Torres makes a decision that lands her on a different continent, far from Seattle, Washington. In Los Angeles, a highly successful Dr. Arizona Robbins delves passionately into her job, pouring all her time and energy into work. What happens when their paths collide?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from Grey's Anatomy, those characters are created and owned by Shonda Rhimes and ABC. The story is for entertainment only. I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story.

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Let It Be - Chapter 1

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She taped up the last box, "How pathetic is it that my life, so insignificant, that it not only fits in a few boxes but can be happily stored away indefinitely, not missed by anyone, including me?" the woman pondered aloud.

"Work is…adequate, and that's the best thing I can say about my entire life these days. Knee replacements. Hip replacements, torn ACLs. Nothing challenging, nothing inspirational, because I am uninspired. My research has been tabled despite the award. One and done. I'm the one hit wonder of orthopedics."

After ensuring the medicine cabinet was empty, she shut its door. Taking a few seconds, she looked deeply at the face reflected before her. The brown eyes lacked the gleam that once sparkled. Where a jubilant smile once graced, pursed lips sat, neither angry nor sad, just there. She chastised the unfamiliar woman staring back at her in the mirror, "Who are you?"

An uncomfortable silence followed and with furrowed brows, she countered, "What? Fine, I allowed this to happen. I know, my choice. Who even cares at this point? You certainly don't." She had become her own judge and jury, scolding the face before her.

The monological conversation continued as she shut off the bathroom light and walked out. The woman acknowledged, "I am functional. My life is functional, my job is functional. If there is no rewarding, feel good moment at the end of each day, what's the point?"  
_  
_The soliloquy cascaded from her lips, "No one is waiting for me at home, not any more. Not that this," she extended her arms to the surroundings, "is a home. It's serves a function, like its inhabitant."

Walking into the bedroom, she peered about and huffed, "Unfulfilled, unsatisfied, insecure, low - make that no self-esteem. Not even an exhaustive list of all the terms used to describe me by people. I can't remember when I last maintained a relationship, which includes with family. Maybe I am asking for too much, to love and be loved? To meet someone who completes me, understands me, challenges me, loves me for my strengths and my weaknesses, and apparently, there is no shortage of those. I appear to be waiting on some mythical definition of love. Thinking that will ever happen is as absurd as everything else in my life."

Satisfied the room was packed away, she shut off the light and walked out.

Making her way to the living room, she remarked, "The living room? There's irony for you, this room is so vapid that I feel like I'm the living dead when I sit here each night." She shook her head in disgust, "I'm done, clearly the problem is operator error."

Tossing the remaining periodicals on the bookcase into the trash, she came across an old photo frame that had fallen flat on the bottom shelf. She had forgotten about this picture. Sitting on the nearby ottoman, her glassy eyes stared intently at the one-dimensional faces, who seemingly were smiling at her. Happier times. "I always thought blood was thicker than water, just my luck, not in my case. My family has estranged themselves from me for a few years now."

After a momentary lull, she began to speak what could only be described as a harangue.

_"How have I failed them, let me count the ways._

_I don't fit the mold of a good Catholic daughter with my 2.6 children. I am unmarried, shunning all socialite qualities bestowed on me through my youth. Imagine, coming out twice, once as a sixteen year old debutante and another as a thirty year old. For the first, I was presented to society as a young lady available to male suitors. At the second, I let the world know it was the person, not the gender that mattered to me. _

_Yup, bisexual. _

_I am a divorcée. My parents could have tolerated the divorce because it would have only been a temporary label; they would have made sure it would have been deemed an annulment. I'm not sure on what grounds, it wasn't bigamy. I didn't realize I was bi at the time I married. We both wanted children. We certainly consummated the marriage, numerous times. I insisted calling it what it was, a divorce._

_Another black mark against me._

_It doesn't help that I don't need their money. I won't take it or depend on it; my trust fund sits untouched, accruing interest. The power my parents held over me, through high school, college and med school is non-existent now; I don't need their financial support. It irks them that I didn't get the materialistic genes. Aria must have gotten that entire lot of DNA. Their emotional support is another story, that would have been nice, but we appear to be past that point._

_Not that it even matters._

_My mother is certain that the final resting place of my soul will be in eternal damnation. The way I see it, it will be a long-awaited reunion. My eternity will include lots of family time, since I am confident that their views and actions are not what God intended. In my mind, you can't buy-off God._

_If I am destined for Hell, then so are they."  
_

She hesitated a moment, gazing intently at the photo, ruminating whether it belonged in the bin or the box. She tossed it into the last box and taped the carton shut.

"Who is going to miss me? Joe will miss me. I'm a good customer. Actually, I'm probably his best customer - not really something to brag about," she drolly scoffed.  
_  
_The woman stood up, and mentally went through her checklist, "Opened PO Box, set-up bills on auto pay, movers will be here in the morning, tickets, passport, visa, shots. All that is left is to say goodbye to Joe and our good friend, Señor Cuervo."

Pausing a moment, she glanced at her watch, "Wow, it's already 12:30. Got to go."

Turning around to view her neatly packaged past, she mulled, "Crazy? I am. At least that's the consensus."

Callie Torres shut the door to her apartment and walked down the street to Joe's so she could enjoy last call one more time at the place that had become her home away from home.

Walking to the bar, the woman started the motivational part of her self-serving speech,

"_Tomorrow I leave_ _for a third world continent that is lacking in many basic necessities. Much of the country does not even have access to clean drinking water, despite the money rolling in from the oil. Where I'm going is not so desperate, but it still is a far cry from my present lifestyle. My life here is only keeping me in a stranglehold. What I will be doing is to help lots of people who never had access to an orthopedic surgeon. I can still perform the basic knee and hip repairs, but hopefully much more. There is a national soccer team, maybe I can keep my hands in the sports medicine side. I will just be going off the grid for a while, taking a break from life here for a year or so, just looking to be anonymous._

_I need to find out who I am or who I am supposed to be._

_While I'm not prepared to return to the Peace Corps at this stage in my life and live a more bohemian lifestyle, this is a decent option. I will have an apartment, my own space, a bed, a bath and running water. Joining a more established medical agency was a thought, but then I would be immersed with people on a more intense, intimate basis, which undoubtedly would mean feeling obligated to share my space, my life and my history. _

_Too much information. _

_Ah yes, the expected courtesies of working closely with an established group, the understanding that you need to be a team player, socialize and develop friendships. And share. I don't want that. I don't know me, what's to share? I am choosing alone, far away and my medicine. _

_It's all good._

_My parents. I haven't said as much as a 'hello' to them in ages, never mind letting them know that I'm moving. Do you think they will figure it out before I return? We'll see. We have not been in touch for a few years. My email address has stayed the same; they can contact me if they need to. My efforts to reach out fell on deaf ears, so I'm done trying._

_To them, I'm extinct._

_My friends or better yet, former friends, I severed ties with. I stopped returning phone calls, joining them for outings, preferring lunch in the solitude of my office and dinners alone in my apartment._

_Really, who is left? _

_Mark is dead. George is dead. Meredith isn't really a friend, we are more of acquaintances. Really, just Derek? Derek I enjoy, but for nothing deep, and of course that brings me back to Meredith. Package deal those two. Cristina I'll miss. She used to be my partner in crime at Joe's, drinking buddies. Her research has consumed her lately, she is making a name for herself. Good for her. She'll never know I'm gone. _

_Then there is Bailey…._

_Bailey, I shut her out of my life because she could see my soul. She was Wonder Woman with her X-ray vision. I couldn't lie to her, I didn't need to. She saw the truth in my eyes. She always said my eyes couldn't fib. When she and Tuck relocated to LA to join Ben, the last person I felt accountable to was gone. She would not have tolerated my choices, allowed my isolation, nor supported my decision. But, out of sight, out of mind. She made it easy to walk away from that friendship.  
_

_My new life starts tomorrow. _

_It is dangerous? Probably not, but who cares. It's a relatively tame area, I should be fine. If I was to die, would it really matter? Would the world miss me? I left my mark in the medical world with my cartilage work. My name is now forever etched into science posterity. _

_My physical presence is superfluous_."

Joe smiled when his friend walked through the door. He was already pouring her beverage of choice, tequila. It was strong, biting, and allowed for amnesia, albeit temporarily.

A couple drinks later, Callie stood up to leave for the final time.

Joe looked at her, smiling and said, "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

She laughed. The two had enjoyed Casablanca often enough during the evenings, along with a slew of other movie classics. The classics and their lines never got old on a slow sports day.

"Here's looking at you kid," Joe added with a tinge of melancholy in his voice as he downed the shot of tequila, hoping to hide the tears in his eyes.

Callie Torres returned a thoughtful smile and warm hug to the person who had become her sole friend, and she walked out of the bar without looking back.

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While surfing the web a few months back after a particularly tortuous day, Callie fantasized about positions as far away from Seattle, Washington as she could possibly get. A job ad popped up that seemed perfect for the depressed orthopedic surgeon.

As she read the listing, she thought, _"Why not? Africa was not necessarily at the top of my list, but Equatorial New Guinea is a Spanish-speaking country, drenched in black gold. Knowing the language makes it a viable option. The price is right, not that I need the money, but the decent paycheck doesn't hurt. The bonus being I can continue to ignore my trust fund. An Ortho position with a blank check. They want me to set up the department to be 'cutting edge'. Do they even know what that is? Probably not. But it means I can create at least a sterile environment and the basics of an OR. I won't need to use a rusty saw to remove a limb on someone who does not even have the benefit of anesthesia. However, I am going to a continent where anesthesia is a luxury. Scary, right?"_

The Bata hospital president jumped at the chance to get the renowned orthopedic surgeon on his staff as a department head. The contract was only for a year, but the presence of the American doctor would certainly raise the credibility of the hospital and community immeasurably. Though women were infrequently given these professional leadership roles, the résumé of Dr. Calliope Torres was heads and tails superior to anyone, male or female, who applied for the job.

Dr. Emilio Montalban flew to America to interview the surgeon, but really it was a done deal before he even left the country. He brought the contract for her to sign. It turned out she asked for very little. After he had already offered her an administrative assistant, driver and a few other small perks, he realized he may have been unnecessarily generous. Her only request was access to an assistant who was fluent in English, Spanish and the local dialect. He could see her point. So much of the information she utilized was in English, she needed someone who could independently and competently translate. Dr. Montalban was quite pleased with his new acquisition, he was certain the donors would be too.

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Quotes: From the movie Casablanca:

1) "_Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine._"

2) _"Here's looking at you kid,"_

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Author's Note

If you are still reading, thank you. I truly appreciate it. This A/N is the only one I plan on including for this story. It is meant to apply to this and all future chapters.

This AU story is entirely written. With that being said, I will take a little time in between posting chapters, just to allow me an additional chance to review, make a few more edits and quadruple check it. You will notice a few references will tie in with the show's storyline, other times it will not. This is something that I have worked on here and there for a while. Over that time some characters changed. At a future point, the rating will be changed to "M", since there are _"references to some violence, or coarse language." _There is some violence and implied abuse. On occasion there are a few four letter words. When I change the designation, I will also make note of it at the beginning of the chapter.

Things you should know: This is a make-believe tale, though some of the issues raised are very real. Because it is fiction, I ask that you allow some literary license in my storytelling. The characters you don't recognize from Shonda Rhimes & Grey's Anatomy are ones I made up and are totally fictitious. The ones you do recognize from Grey's Anatomy belong to Shonda Rhimes. The medical references are meant to be plausible, but I have no medical background and used the Internet as my resource. In regards to the real and make-believe organizations mentioned in the story, I have no clue how they specifically work, but again ask readers for some leeway in how I have interpreted them operating.

This is a story about Callie and Arizona, though initially, it may feel Callie-centric as the first few chapters are about solely about her. At some point, readers may feel the focus is more on Arizona. It does balance out. When the story begins, they don't know each other. It will take some time before they end up in the same chapter. If you decide to continue, thank you. If not, I understand, this story is not for everyone. As for the title, it is inspired by the Beatle's song of the same name.

If you have a question or concern, just PM me. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

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Let It Be - Chapter 2

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§

The muggy, tropical air smothered Callie as she deplaned. The thick troposphere filled her nostrils with the putrid fumes of engine fuel as she traipsed down the mobile stairway to the tarmac into the dense humidity. Greeting the passengers as they crossed the runway was a colorful '_Welcome to Equatorial New Guinea'_ sign hanging by the passenger entrance.

Being an American and a doctor, her paperwork allowed her to pass through customs without hassles. Walking toward baggage claim, however, she felt a bit vulnerable. No longer having the security of her documents to shield her, where to the general populace she was merely a female visitor to the African country.

She sensed anonymous eyes peering at her as she ventured through the quiet airport. Her Mediterranean features announced she was a foreigner. The absence of a male escort advertised she was traveling solo. She noticed many of the men seemed to dress with European flair. The women around her dressed less chic by American standards. Their conservative garb consisted of either dated, western styles or airy, vibrant, traditional, African dress. Regardless, either attire left everything to the imagination - as intended. Callie wore slacks that were fashionable, yet conservatively classic. Her form fitting top revealed very little skin. However, her outfit accentuated her unmistakable curves. The men passing by gawked at her unabashedly, making her feel scantily clothed.

Her entrance to this unfamiliar environment soon became even more uncomfortable as it became apparent that her definition of personal space differed from what had been her norm. The smell of a spicy, fish lunch mixed with the stink, stale odor of garlic was thrust at her with every word spoken. She only had a couple of conversations, attempting to get her bearings, when she quickly realized that her individual comfort zone would need to shrink. She was reminded that here, in Africa, people were used to living in smaller quarters and with extended family. Creating a bubble that was too large would be construed as being aloof. She made a mental note to refrain from instinctively stepping back when having conversations. She needed to make this new life work and giving the appearance of seeming standoffish to co-workers or acquaintances because she was not in tune with local mores could lead to a poor first impression.

Anxious to have all her possessions in hand, she walked toward baggage claim in order to retrieve her belongings. She would then determine how to locate her hotel, her home for the next month. The communication from the hospital was sketchy, only her flight and hotel information had been emailed. Supposedly, an assistant was being assigned to help her with the balance of the relocation and the setting up her new department, but when that would happen she hadn't a clue. Truly, she didn't really care. She was here and she would figure it out. As for now, there were so few hotels, it should not be too difficult to locate to hers.

Approaching the carousel, she was about to pull her first piece of luggage off, when the distinct smell of body odor caught her attention as an arm reached over her, swiftly yanking her bag from the conveyor belt. Taken back, she turned hastily around to see a man smile at her. He held up a sign: _Dr. Torres. _His gaze asked for confirmation.

"I'm Dr. Torres," she said, nodding with shaky confidence. She stepped aside in order to give the man additional room to grab her other suitcase as it was about to pass by a second time. She raised her guard when it suddenly occurred to her that this nameless person seemed to know more about her than she about him.

She was initially unsettled that the man identified her so readily. Obviously, the hospital arranged for him to meet her. It dawned on her that identifying her was a no-brainer as she looked around. She was the only western female in the area, and her _Gucci_ carry-on was clearly a relative to her checked luggage, part of a set. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Letting out a relieved breath, she relaxed, as the man grabbed her other bag. Her designer luggage was yet another not so subtle sign of her foreignness.

"Madam, I am your driver, Alvaro," the man declared in Spanish after removing the bags from the carousel.

'_Hmm, my driver,__'_ she thought, _'Nice.'_ She stared at him a moment. He was her age, maybe slightly older, taller, thin, worn. His skin was chocolate brown, shiny with sweat. He had a full head of wavy hair, trimmed short. His dark eyes were warm, but lacked sparkle. His beard and mustache were cropped close, styled a bit like Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow, though without the braids. He dressed in a short sleeve, button-up dress shirt and dark, lightweight slacks. Dirty feet were supported by sandals.

"Nice to me you, Alvaro. I'm guessing you're here to bring me to the hotel," she said eagerly. She was about to extend her hand to offer a handshake, but before she could, she realized Alvaro had already gripped her luggage, one in each hand. He clearly was not expecting the gesture, so she refrained.

"Yes Madam, and tomorrow I will bring you to work," he stated in a matter of fact manner.

Alvaro took both suitcases and escorted Callie to the car. He rested the luggage on the sidewalk in order to open the door to the backseat for Callie. Once she was seated, he shut the car door and he placed the bags in the trunk of the vehicle.

Callie lowered her reservations about this man. If he had devious plans for her, he would not have had her sit in the back seat, plus he had a considerate manner about him. So far, so good. She hoped this start was a good omen, the first step in changing her life to a more positive outcome, because really what she left was not much.

Driving out of the airport, she was grateful she had a driver. She tugged on her seatbelt, making sure it was securely fastened as the car entered a roundabout. The trip to the hotel resembled a few laps around the track at the Grand Prix and it scared the hell out of her. Cars were weaving in and out, oblivious pedestrians walking haphazardly about the roads and the animals! Alvaro honked his horn every few moments, yelling at the craziness around him as he jerked the car left and right, avoiding obstacles. The cars in the vicinity returned the gesture. "What the hell were animals doing wandering about the busy roads?" she wondered.

Gripping her purse tightly, she looked out the side window. _"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore,"_ was all that came to mind.

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In no time they arrived at the nicest hotel in the area, rather modest by American standards; there were so few choices. Her room included a queen size bed with air conditioning, thank goodness. The thick humidity was suffocating. She really needed to sleep, but her internal body clock was so confused. She had been awake, and traveling well over a day at this point. Her nerves were on edge after more than thirty hours of travel. Sleep would be elusive with the anxiety inspired by the abrupt shift in her lifestyle. Knowing she should eat something, Callie found the hotel restaurant, but she realized that she was somewhat of a distraction, a foreign female dining alone. The distinct possibility of being stared at for the duration of her meal made her even more unsettled. Rather than risk exacerbating her indigestion any further, she ordered her food and requested it be delivered to her room. The last thing she needed to add to her list of concerns was even more gastric distress.

As promised, the next morning Alvaro was waiting for her. She spied him off to the side, leaning against the sedan as she approached the lobby doors. He was smoking a cigarette while conversing with a group of idle taxi drivers, who lingered about waiting to secure a fare from traveling businessmen. As soon as Alvaro spotted her emerging from the hotel lobby, he deftly flicked his cigarette butt and swiftly hopped into the car, speeding to the hotel entrance. She was struck by how nonchalant yet perceptive he was. Before she could reach the door handle, he had already exited the vehicle and had the passenger door open for her. "Good morning, Madam," he greeted.

"Alvaro, good morning. Please, call me Callie. It sure does get hot early here." She tried to make small talk, but she soon realized he was uncomfortable with her attempts. Instead, Callie decided to silently peer out the window, absorbing her new surroundings.

As he pulled the car up to the hospital entrance, again he opened her door. This time he handed her a wrinkled paper with directions and numbers scrawled in what looked more like chicken scratch: '_take elevator to 3 floor go left__ room 312.__'_

He added, "Go through the front door, the elevator is to the right. My phone number is on the paper. Call when you are ready to leave. Have a nice day, Madam Callie."

"Thank you," she responded while thinking,_ 'Really?'_ she silently questioned. She stood alone, in front of her new place of employment, slightly overwhelmed. '_That__'__s it? Alvaro is my sole meet and greet?'_

She exited the third floor elevator and walked down the hall, perusing the office numbers. Callie immediately noticed the sign with her name, declaring her presence in the hospital. It hung on a placard adjacent to the office door numbered 312: _Dr. Cal Torres, MD_.

Yes, she was clearly a female, the hospital would not deny that, but apparently they not anxious to tout that fact either. In a country where twenty-five percent of the women were not literate, females in the workplace were neither necessarily common nor respected, especially in a professional capacity. Thus, the nonspecific gender name of 'Cal'. "I guess it could be worse," she lamented. "I would rather be called Cal than Calliope." The latter only served to remind her of her father. She would rather escape from that memory.

Women here were not often found outside the home, of course, most women were lucky if they got more than seven years in the educational system, barely enough time to learn to read and write. There were very few women able to hold professional positions. Very few had the education to do so. A brief wave of panic briefly washed over her as she stood in the hall. She wondered silently, "What am I doing here?"

So caught up in her momentary second-guessing of her current career move, she failed to notice the woman sitting at the desk outside her office door. "Dr. Torres?" an older woman asked as she stood and walked toward Callie, extending her hand.

Startled, she answered, "Yes, I'm Dr. Torres. Please call me Callie." She shook the woman's hand.

The woman smiled, "I am more comfortable with Dr. Torres, if you wouldn't mind. My name is Maria Rosa. I am your secretary. I'm sorry, I didn't realize you would be here so early this morning. I erroneously assumed you would need time to recover from your long trip. But, you know what they say about never assuming. Anyhow, disregard the email I sent you offering to meet you at the hotel."

Callie realized that as the women apologized, Alvaro had figured out she was unexpected this morning as well and he thoughtfully wrote out those directions for her.

Maria was an older woman, perhaps sixty years old or so. She was fluent in English, Spanish and French as well as the local dialect. Callie's first impression was the woman had a wise deportment about her. Over the day, she realized Maria spoke sparingly. Though her words were few, it did not take long to learn that it was important to listen to what Maria shared, she was unassumingly smart. It occurred to Callie that she was still on probation in this woman's eyes. The two would undoubtedly spend the first weeks sizing each other up. Callie was worried about how much information to share with her assistant. Was she really 'her' assistant? The older woman was obviously just as unwilling to unconditionally trust this foreign newcomer. Both women managed to tactfully dance around each other during their initial time together.

The first weeks at the hospital were slow, learning the routine, completing paperwork, ordering equipment and meeting an occasional colleague. Callie was one of the few female physicians on staff, actually one of the few females employed by the hospital. It was a nice bonus to learn she did, as promised, get an administrative assistant all to herself. Paperwork was so tedious, Maria helped Callie plod through it timelier, hopefully expediting her presence to the inside of an operating room, which she missed terribly. Maria was efficient, completing everything asked of her without hesitation. She wasn't warm and fuzzy, barely breaking a smile. Callie reminded herself that this is what she wanted, space and objective relationships. Maria gave her that and Callie needed to get over the fact that Maria was her secretary, not her friend.

The hours spent getting the orthopedic department up and running were longer than she anticipated. Getting the right equipment and staffing for this department in a third world country was infinitely harder than she expected, not that she needed many staff members, essentially only a few. But finding a nurse she sensed some professional chemistry with was a challenge. The first two weeks Callie had not left the hospital before 10:00pm, and then dragged herself back in before 8:00am. Navigating the paperwork was daunting, and then there were phone calls and interviews, too. But, she was close to completion.

As she was leaving one night, she passed by a woman entering the hospital with an injured youngster screaming in her arms. The woman was met with indifference by the ER staff, which made no sense to the American doctor. Callie stopped a moment to observe the scene unfold as she walked toward the exit. The young boy was held by whom she assumed was his mother. He drifted in and out of consciousness, sporadically yelping in pain as the woman inadvertently jarred the arm in her zeal to get him care. His arm appeared to have been ripped open, as if mauled by an animal. If he wasn't treated soon, he would surely lose it, she deduced as she resumed walking.

It was late. Callie could barely keep her eyes open as she laboriously hiked to the parking lot. Her sleep had been fitful since her arrival, leaving her perpetually tired. Thankful when she spotted Alvaro waiting for her, she made her way to his vehicle. As she trudged on, she could still faintly hear the young boy's wails, leaving Callie unsettled. As she approached the car, she guiltily wondered, '_Will that boy be one of the ones who doesn't live to see another birthday?'_ She reminded herself why she was here. Turning around, she followed the trail of hysterics.

As she entered the Emergency Room, Callie was shocked to see the woman still in the waiting area, trying to console the injured youth. Surely an injury so grave needed be managed immediately. Walking to the desk, the admittance staff brusquely dismissed her inquiries regarding the youngster, disbelieving she was a physician. Annoyed at being so easily cast-off, Callie demanded to speak with the person in charge. Her demands in Spanish made everyone aware in no uncertain terms that she was angry. "What the hell kind of hospital is this?" she challenged loudly.

Alvaro, seeing his employer do an about-face, followed her inside. "Madam Callie," he called out after her.

She turned to her driver and barked in frustration, "He needs help, now!"

"They are indigents, illegal immigrants. They have no money or insurance. They are not a priority," Alvaro explained.

"So he gets care when it's convenient? I'm sorry, that does not cut it with me." Her frustration, paired with fatigue, was almost out of control. First, she that was so easily disregarded and second that the she felt the hospital's oath to patient care was being so blatantly ignored. A woman's word held very little value here she realized. Most people had never even seen a female doctor. No one would give her the time of day.

Seeing her rage, Alvaro cautioned, "Hold on, Madam. Please." Her first reaction was that she could fight her own battles, but then she remembered that what was best for the little boy, was best for her. Callie reluctantly deferred to Alvaro.

He returned a couple minutes later, a doctor was following him, "Dr. Torres?"

She nodded at the doctor, "That is correct."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you …" the man apologetically explained.

Irate, she snapped, "You didn't realize I was a woman, I gathered that. It still doesn't explain you not treating this boy."

"We have clinics for the poor. He is in this country illegally. Who will pay the bill?" he challenged. Seeing the anger seep from her, he added in consolation, "We'll get to him eventually."

Undeterred, she lashed out, "If he dies, will it matter to you? This boy needs help NOW. I'm going to help him. I will cause a scene that you won't believe unless you get me what I need. Now!"

The male doctor, though perturbed at being put in his place by a woman, was more worried about the potential clout this new physician may have, a department head no less. He decided to refrain from arguing with her, unsure of how much power she actually wielded. He backed off. He had heard about the new orthopedic department with the famous American doctor. He just didn't realize he was a she.

"Fine. I'll give you one bay, that's it. It's all being billed to your department," he pompously retaliated as he dismissed her.

The boy needed her more than this argument. She asked a nurse to direct her to the bed allocated to her, and motioned for the boy's mother to follow. A young female medical assistant, who observed all this unfold, took pity on her and offered to help.

Callie took the boy from the mother and placed him on the bed she was given. An OR would have been preferable, but she could work with the space she was given. Scrounging up a gown, gloves and tools, she went to work. "What happened? This injury is hours old," Callie asked the woman, as she cleaned out the wounds.

"It happened yesterday, a fishing accident. His arm got tangled and he was bitten viciously by an eel trapped in the nets. It took time for him to be brought home," the mother said.

Callie angrily looked up, "How old is he? Six? Seven? Why is he fishing with nets? That means he is on a boat. Doesn't he go to school?" She fiercely interrogated the mother.

The mother merely responded, "Do you think I want this for Manny? I need to feed five other people. We are just trying to survive."

Callie shot the mother an angry glance and went back to her task. She was livid, but she could not let herself focus on the reason. She needed all her concentration to be on the problem. Ignoring the mother, she plugged away.

Hours later the boy's arm was repaired, and he was on the long road to recovery.

As Callie finally emerged from the room, she noticed Alvaro patiently sitting on the waiting room couch. Normally, he waited in the car, but tonight she understood he was more than her driver, he had her back. Alvaro stayed close should the need arise for his assistance. She was grateful. She was more ignorant of the local lifestyle than she anticipated. Today, she was challenging authority. In America, that would not have fazed her, perhaps she would have welcomed it. Yet, it was uncharted territory for her in Africa. "Oh, Alvaro, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here. I'm supposed to be here in another couple hours anyway. Go home, sleep. I'll just stay. Really. I need to keep an eye on this little guy anyhow."

Callie made sure the boy was admitted. Of course, his charges would be billed to her department, which she would need to sort out later with hospital administration. She left strict orders with the nursing staff to contact her if his condition changed.

Making her way back to her office, she thought how desperately she needed sleep, even for just for a couple hours. She curled up in the only comfortable chair in her office, knowing she made a difference today. No throw or blanket was available, but cloaked in the sense of fulfillment, she was lulled to sleep. The whole reason she was here, in this country, was to make a difference in someone's life. She did that today, albeit a minuscule difference. Though, she was still annoyed that she had to fight so hard to treat the youngster. As she closed her eyes, she felt a peace that had previously seemed elusive.

Hours later Callie woke up, pulling the blanket tightly around her. It took her a minute to figure out where she was. Seeing her desk, she remembered. She looked at her watch and realized the time was after 10:00am. Panicking, she threw the blanket off her and jumped out of the chair. She paused a second, a blanket? She didn't remember having a blanket. She overslept, in her office no less. Opening the door, she saw Maria quietly working away at her desk. "Maria, I'm so sorry. I missed the meeting this morning and I promised to get you paperwork. I'm so, so sorry. I…."

"Dr. Torres, it is okay," the older woman reassured, offering a warm smile. "I rescheduled your meeting until this afternoon. The papers have been submitted," Maria said as stood up. "The nurses said little Manny is doing fine."

Reaching to her side table, Maria picked up a tray, and walked over to Callie, offering it to the doctor, "Here, you need to eat. I'm thinking you haven't eaten since lunch yesterday." The assistant handed her a bowl of porridge with a few slices of sweet bread. "I only have tea, let me get you a cup of coffee."

"Thank you. Coffee would be great," Callie graciously replied as she accepted the tray. She wouldn't refuse Maria's offer for coffee either, it would be her lifeline today. Looking at Maria, "You knew I was in my office, asleep?" Maria nodded.

"You gave me the blanket. You know about last night." Maria simply shared a slight grin. But Callie understood in no uncertain terms that their relationship, in this moment in time, now changed. Callie knew she passed a test and the food being offered was an olive branch of sorts. Maria decided Callie was worthy of more than just clerical support. The understanding was unspoken, confirmed by knowing glances exchanged between the two women.

Callie was grateful for the extra attention now bestowed on her by Maria, an ally of sorts. Her assistant still kept her at an arm's length, but they had moved beyond acquaintances, though their camaraderie remained solely in the workplace. Maria had this uncanny ability to organize Callie's day better than Callie could do herself, often anticipating the orthopedic surgeon's needs before the request could even be made. Her efforts included looking out for the younger woman's wellbeing, like ensuring Callie remembered to eat. Despite Callie's request to call her by her first name, Maria remained steadfast in her salutation, 'Dr. Torres' always. The mutual respect between the two was clear.

By the end of the week Callie was finally having her surgical début, supposedly for an amputation. She had not seen the inside of an OR in almost a month and she was excited to be called in on her first emergency. Though, the thought of removing a limb as her first official surgical procedure was a bit depressing.

One look at the injury and she was smiling. Her colleagues found her delight in the pending procedure not just unsettling, but even creepy. Callie, needing to disperse the tension in the OR, turned on some upbeat music and announced, "Alright people, ready?" Callie awed the confused OR staff, unsurprisingly saving the teen's limb. Historically, an injury like this required removal in this hospital, but certainly not for Dr. Torres. With the motivating music playing in the background, Dr. Torres was making a name for herself.

A few more times in the OR and it did not take long for Callie to become a topic of water cooler conversation. She was the hotshot Ortho doc, badass once more. The talk was good.

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Quote: Movie , The Wizard of Oz: "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore,"


	3. Chapter 3

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Let It Be - Chapter 3

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Callie leased an apartment slightly off the beaten path, but within walking distance to the hospital. Initially, she permitted Alvaro to drive her to work and home again, along with chauffeuring her a few times to run errands. But, she wanted to explore more, allow herself to be immersed more fully into the community. She let Alvaro know she would occasionally be walking home from work, at least on the rare days she finished early.

He was uncomfortable with her preference; he thought it reflected poorly on him, that he was shirking his duties. But she reassured him, as best she could, that she needed to learn about her new surroundings and the easiest way was to walk through it on her own. She ended her reasoning with a sincere promise that she would not take any unnecessary risks and guaranteed that his number was on speed dial. Grumbling, he accepted her wishes. She was grateful that he cared enough to grumble.

On the afternoon of her maiden, pedestrian excursion, she was excited to meander through the local souk. As she approached the marketplace, she felt like an oddity. Most tourists never ventured to this part of town, not that visitors were flocking to this country as it were. It was obvious she was a foreigner; her command of Spanish led people to believe she was not American. With her Latina features, they were not sure what nationality she was, most assumed Spanish. Given the history of the country, it was a logical conclusion.

She took her time to relish the people, the architecture, and the smells as she approached the market area. Surveying the scenery, she analyzed the stark differences from Seattle. The dearth of rain here was initially the most noticeable, but that would change once the rainy season hit. Over the year, Equatorial New Guinea would receive twice the amount of rain from what she was used to in Seattle. However at this moment, Callie blissfully enjoyed the remnants of the afternoon sun beating down on her as she strolled along. Today's dry, tropical weather was relaxing; the only thing missing was surf and sand. She would save that field trip for another day.

Callie took a moment to truly appreciate the uniqueness of the populace, like their clothing, which varied from traditional to modern. She was jealous of their camaraderie. The women resembled a sewing circle as they gathered together, their chatting quite animated. The men were often sipping tea, huddled around a hookah.

Back home, when one went food shopping, it was frequently a quick in and out of the grocery store. She recalled, '_We enter the store, stealthily maneuvering our cart in an attempt to avoid so and so, because she'll talk my ear off. Here, friends seek each other out. They take the time to have a conversation. It's nice,'_ she concluded.

Callie moseyed along the dusty streets, sidestepping debris strewn about, stopping to purchase some nuts and bananas. At one point, she noticed a young boy hobbling in her trail, "Is he following me for a handout?" she wondered aloud. She chose to ignore his presence.

Continuing to roam further into the marketplace, she gazed about. The stalls were a montage of dried spices, the pungent aroma of pepper and something akin to cardamom filled the air. Figs, and fresh fruits, like bananas and mangos, filled the pushcarts lining the sidewalks along with a plethora of vegetables. It resembled a colorful palette. The voices of the vendors competing for business sang out, begging for her attention. As she ventured deeper into the open air market, the sweet fragrance of perfumed oils grabbed her senses and her money. She felt at home with the scenes, reminiscent of her stint with the Peace Corps, years ago. Though, Africa had changed a great deal since then.

Suddenly, a rancid odor shook her from the pleasant memories. To her right, a line of dead bushmeat lay across some racks and lifeless chickens hung by their feet, swaying in the vendors' stalls. Blood dripped to the ground, encouraging flies to swarm about in chaotic confusion. Fresh meat was waiting to be purchased for the night's dinner, but not hers! She may have no issue cutting bone in an OR, but there was no way she was prepared to skin an animal, which resembled a rat and then carve through bone and tissue to prepare her meal. Of course, if she would prefer a reptile to dine on, like a crocodile or snake, those too were available for purchase. The options repulsed her.

She made one more stop, deciding to buy rice. Her meal tonight and for the foreseeable future would definitely be vegetarian after coming eyeball to eyeball with a dead monkey. She made a mental note to ask Alvaro about visiting the fish market sooner than later. Flustered by her brush with carnivorous side of the souk, she carelessly turned around, all but tripping over her stalker. "Hey Buddy, careful!" she exclaimed in Spanish.

The boy gaped at her; surprised she spoke his language. His clothing was torn and dirty. He clearly had not eaten as much as his growing body required. Bathing was obviously either not a priority or more likely, not even an option. She sensed he wanted money. Begging was big business for children in less developed countries. Impoverished parents and sometimes manipulative adults sent children to the streets. At times, it was out of famished desperation. Other times, the deed was inspired by greed. Callie had no intention of starting the routine of dishing out coins; she would be swarmed in no time. She could see herself as the Pied Piper, with every youngster in town following her for a handout each time she visited the market.

Callie looked down at his needy eyes, and melted. Wordlessly, she handed him the bag of rice she just purchased. It wasn't money she reasoned and undoubtedly he could use the food. The boy smiled, mutely accepting the offering and gimped away.

This became her routine, though only on the infrequent days she was able to leave work at a reasonable hour, while a bit of daylight remained. Walking through the bazaar relaxed her. She easily lost herself among the wares, forgetting her past and reveling in the present. She made a point to peruse different vendors, purchasing an item here and there. She discovered that the anonymous boy had regularly become her shadow, trailing her through the marketplace. He kept his distance except for when she was buying food and then he came within an arm's reach. After their initial interaction, she made a point of doubling her food purchases, handing him the second bag of groceries each time.

One evening, she did not initially see her mysterious admirer, though she still bought the additional amount of food. She assumed he was just late. As she was leaving the open market, she detected her young man off in the distance, trying to seek her out from the corner.

"Hola," she called over.

He stayed put on the spot, so she approached him. He smiled weakly when she handed him the sack. "Muchas gracias," he softly replied. The youngster remained at a standstill. She smiled at him and then walked away. Callie stood off to the side, out of his view, to see what the boy would do. She watched him limp away, his hobble even more pronounced than the day she first crossed paths with him.

She tailed him down a couple side roads as he painstakingly took each step. Unable to watch any longer, Callie caught up with him, startling the youngster. "Why don't I carry this?" she suggested.

Unsure of what to do, he begrudgingly agreed. The discomfort was clear on his face. She looked down at his feet and saw what she guessed was an infection. "How about a piggy-back ride home?" she asked, unfazed by his grungy appearance.

The boy, confused by what Callie was asking, looked at her puzzled. She lifted the youngster onto her shoulders and asked him in Spanish to point the way. She had a clear view of his filthy feet as she carried him to what she thought was home. His foot was definitely infected; she could not believe he was even walking on it.

As she hiked further out of town, the poverty became even more perceptible and the stench of garbage hung in the air. Homes crudely constructed out of inferior lumber and even cardboard painted the landscape. She wondered how some were even capable of standing. The boy tried to convince Callie to leave him on the side of the road, but Callie would not hear of it. She insisted on seeing his mother. Callie reassured the youth in Spanish that she was a doctor and she needed to speak with his mother. She felt the tenseness of the youth's body increase as they appeared to stride closer to his home.

Wary onlookers stopped and stared apprehensively as she carried the child, leery of the outsider. The suspicious glances made her nervous, she was far from her apartment and no one knew where she was, not even Alvaro. He would not be happy with her if he knew she strayed this far from town.

"José," she heard a woman scream as she approached the duo. The woman, who appeared to be the youth's mother, reprimanded the boy in Spanish for bringing "one of them here, it is dangerous."

"No Mama, she is good. She is the one who gives me the food. She said she is a doctor," the boy explained. The mother, unimpressed, continued her rant. The boy hesitantly interrupted. "Mama, she speaks Spanish," he noted sheepishly, apparently embarrassed that his mother's angry comments were obviously understood by Callie as well.

Smiling, Callie offered, as a peace offering to the woman, the bag of food she had purchased for José, "My name is Dr. Torres. I would like to help your son, his foot is sick."

That night began Callie's unofficial outreach into the poor side of Bata. After returning the next day with medicine to heal José's foot, Callie was treated with celebrity status. A few days later, she returned again only to find another person was waiting to see her. First it was one, then multiple. Compelled by the obvious need, she came back, though weeknights were hard, but she made a point to return on the weekend if she was free. As soon as she exited the car, it would not take long before those ailing with issues came to seek her out.

Many were undocumented workers or refugees, who lived in cramped, unsanitary quarters. Others were just barbarically poor citizens of the country. Before she knew it, Callie found herself explaining to uninformed teenage girls the changes their bodies were experiencing. She was asked by loved ones to check worrisome maladies. At times, the remedy was simple, like a reassuring, therapeutic hug. There were instances when she found herself with greater challenges. However, at the end of each visit, Callie was left wondering who was healing whom?


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

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At the beginning of Callie's third month in Bata, the hospital's annual social event was held, a meet and greet for the who's who in the hospital family. Key members of the hospital staff attended as well as major donors and political figures in the community. Callie packed a formal, black dress. It was a conservative choice, not too low-cut, falling above her knees. While she had come to Bata to escape, truth be told, she was looking forward to meeting a few other people in the area. She had not anticipated that being truly alone would leave her with an overwhelming sense of loneliness. Other than the sporadic goodwill visits outside the city, her time was spent either at the hospital or alone. She missed interacting with peers.

Socializing with the community members was a pleasant change of pace and finally having a chance to meet more colleagues was an added bonus. The hospital president/CEO, Dr. Emilio Montalban, was pleased to have an occasion to boast of his newly acquired, notable, American surgeon. "I'd like you to meet our new head of orthopedics, the internationally renowned Dr. Cal Torres," Montalban gushed to the guests. Though embarrassed, she humbly accepted his accolades.

She had lived up to her reputation so far. Callie wished Maria could have attended, but her lowly status did not render her worthy of an invite, Callie felt a bit exposed without her able-bodied assistant by her side to help her navigate through the murky social waters.

Part way through the evening, Dr. Montalban introduced Callie to the hospital's greatest benefactor, an affluent businessman named William Rivas. "Dr. Torres, I've been looking forward to making your acquaintance. Your reputation certainly precedes you and it clearly doesn't do you justice. My dear, I had no idea you would be so ravishing," he drooled. He latched right on to her, effectively ending her mingling for the night.

His arrogance definitely was a turnoff, as he was not shy about broadcasting his money and power. "At least he's easy on the eye," she mused as she gave Rivas the once over with her sultry brown eyes. She guessed Rivas to be closer to forty than fifty age-wise. He was handsomely dressed in an expensive Italian suit, and boasted an impressive, athletic build. Rivas was close in height to her, but in heels, she was taller. He didn't seem to mind, it gave him a better view of her cleavage she surmised, as his eyes noticeably wandered.

William Rivas was a local icon. He was rich, handsome, educated and powerful, with a penchant for the word "I". It started many of his sentences. After listening to him babble for what seemed like an eternity, she concluded he was undoubtedly shrewd enough to donate to all the right causes and bold enough to flaunt it. More importantly, she discovered in conversation that he knew exactly who to befriend and how much that friendship was worth, literally. The corruption in Equatorial New Guinea was widespread, to the point that it was an internationally known fact. This man seemingly had very slippery palms.

Rivas monopolized Callie for the remainder of the evening, much to Callie's chagrin. His arm found its way on to her shoulder, around her waist, and a couple of times even lower. He disregarded her attempts to dissuade his personal touch. He dragged her around the room as if she was his date, "Have you met our new head of orthopedics?" he asked every person he spoke with.

He was not shy about letting her know how generous he was with the hospital. She was forced to stroke his ego. As a doctor, she knew the importance of kowtowing to the donors. "Not all my donations result in such stunning outcomes," he boasted in crowded conversations. The man wore a wedding ring, though his wife was nowhere to be seen. His marriage did not curtail his flirtatious behavior. As the evening dragged on, she found being in his presence increasingly vexatious.

Though uncomfortable, Callie had the wherewithal to stomach conversation with him and judicious enough to remain in an exposed spot. "Mr. Rivas," she finally said.

"I insist you call me William," he interjected.

She smiled, "William, I must be going. It's getting late and I have an early start tomorrow," she explained, attempting to feign fatigue and bid her sycophant goodbye.

"Well, Cal, you are leaving much too early for my liking. I want to continue this conversation. How about next Saturday? I own a soccer team, you know. You'll be my guest at the match. The view is spectacular, just meters from the action," he crowed.

Callie hesitated in answering, reluctant to encourage the braggart any further.

"I won't take 'No' for an answer. I insist you see my stadium. It's the hottest ticket in town." He was adamant that declining his invitation was not an option.

She had to admit it intrigued her to see a professional athletic event; she loved sports. "Thank you for the invitation. Let me give it some thought and get back to you. I need to check my schedule. Goodnight, William. So nice to meet you," she politely replied and then made a beeline for Alvaro's car.

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Her administrative assistant cringed when it arrived; a decadent floral arrangement was delivered to her office bright and early Monday. Maria grudgingly placed the garish floral display on the credenza behind the doctor's desk. She stopped the surgeon before she entered her office. Clearly miffed and with raised her eyebrows, Maria said, "Flowers arrived for you this morning."

Callie smiled with giddy excitement at the unexpected gesture, not even considering who they might be from, "Really?"

Maria returned a sober glance, "Be careful of him, Dr. Torres. Please."

Callie quizzically regarded her assistant as she passed over the threshold, a bit surprised that Maria would be so presumptuous as to assume who the delivery was from. Her eyes immediately gravitated to the ostentatious arrangement gawking at her. It was most definitely over the top. The envelope remained unopened.

Callie pulled the card out and read it:

**I so enjoyed your exquisite company Saturday night.**

**Cal, you are a beautiful addition to the hospital. **

**I look forward to working more closely with you on future endeavors.**

**I will see you at the soccer match Saturday.**

**William**

Callie never agreed to attend the game; she said she would consider it. The note said otherwise. Maria stood in the doorway watching Callie's facial expression change from delight to pensive.

Unsure that her boss understood the veracity of her earlier caution, Maria forewarned, "Here, in Africa, we have rock pythons. This snake patiently bides its time, waiting for its prey, until the unsuspecting victim has no chance of escape. When it finally attacks, it starts slow, the victim feeling merely an uncomfortable tightness. But then the constriction increases and it is unrelenting. The python suffocates the unwitting victim, crushing its heart, until death." Maria paused for dramatic effect, "Rivas is such a python."

Callie's eyes shot up and she saw the unquestionable concern on the older woman's face, Callie slowly nodded. The warning was heard, loud and clear. Suddenly, all Callie could see were the thorns protruding from the stems. "Maria, would you make arrangements to have this displayed someplace else?" Callie asked, pointing to the flowers, "Perhaps a more public spot where more people can enjoy it."

"As you wish, Dr. Torres," Maria readily replied, satisfied that the surgeon heard her concern.

Callie sighed, her intuition told her to heed the warning and she appreciated the unsolicited admonishment. There was something unsettling about this man, whom the hospital felt walked on water. With over nine months remaining on her contract, Callie would just need to be wary of her connection to William Rivas, balancing the hospital's needs with her own wellbeing.

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Friday afternoon a small manila envelope arrived at her office. Maria placed it conspicuously on the center of Callie's desk, so the doctor's attention would immediately be drawn to it. Without even opening the small package, Maria knew who the sender was. It was as if the vibes being thrown off the envelope hissed, "_Rivassss_."

Callie easily spied the envelope when she returned to her office late Friday, after a lengthy surgery. The halls by the offices were empty; the office staff had already left for the weekend. When she opened the seal, she saw an official sideline pass attached to a lanyard. Game time was 1:00pm. Some much for her Saturday.

The next day Alvaro drove her to the stadium, "Alvaro, let me get you a ticket to the match. I hate to see you stuck sitting here in the parking lot all afternoon," she pleaded.

"No, Madam Callie, I'm fine. I will listen on the radio. I will wait here for you," he insisted. She wanted to buy him a ticket, so he too could enjoy the hyped up soccer game, but he politely refused. His responsibility was to Callie, he remained a stalwart employee. He would stay in his car, ready for whenever she needed him.

Callie had very little choice but to attend the match. Truth be told, she was looking forward to the game. It excited her to attend. Plus, she had no idea how to contact Rivas to decline the invitation. Maria had left for the day before Callie had finished up on Friday. Feeling obligated, with the event less than twenty-four hours away, she decided it would be impolite to decline on such short notice anyhow.

Nothing could beat the adrenaline rush of standing on the sidelines of a game. It reminded her of home and happier times. Having a close-up view of the match certainly enriched her perspective on soccer. The game was played here at a higher level, more intensity than what she was used to back home Callie recalled.

Soccer, or fútbol as it was locally called, was big business. Equatorial New Guinea's capital, Malabo, just hosted the Africa Cup of Nations a few months back. She had worked with players from a variety of professional teams, in particular, the Mariners and Seattle Seahawks. However, soccer athletes, Callie had limited exposure to, other than a handful of college and high school players.

Competitively passionate, bordering on fanatical was how she would describe the action. It was clear the friction on the field extended to the stands as well. The fans were obsessed with their team and the game. Their shouts bellowed, struggling to be heard over the vuvuzelas. Though, it was nearly impossible to hear anything but the annoying horns. Callie managed to make out a couple chants, "A por ellos!, Go get them!" and "¡Podemos! We can!" The loud one-upmanship between the rivals increased as the game drew on.

Part way through the second half one of the Bata players was injured. The trainer was called on to the field, and the player was brought off on a stretcher. "Dr. Torres," Rivas beckoned. "Would you evaluate this?" Rivas sternly requested as he pointed to the midfielder laying flat on his back, on the gurney. As an afterthought, he added a curt, "Please."

Request may have been too polite a term. She could sense from his tone it was expected that she assess the injury. It took only a minute or two of examination to see the man likely had a career threatening ACL/MCL tear. "I would need to get a MRI before I can determine the full extent of the damage," Callie concluded. "Ice and elevation is all we can do now. Tomorrow, I will get the needed scans," she determined. _'Surgery was certain_,' she thought, _'though with the amount of swelling, it would need to wait a few days,' _she silently processed.

"Well, Dr. Torres, I trust you will be the one to handle this," Rivas stated in an authoritative manner. It would seem William Rivas' wishes were more like behests. Not to mention, she was the hospital's orthopedic surgeon, of course she would be the one to handle it! As if she needed him to manage her job.

So, Mr. Rivas' agenda was translucent. He was the major stakeholder in the team and he was looking out for his investment, strategically and optically. He took every opportunity to be seen with the attractive surgeon. She hated that he paraded her along the sidelines, brushing his body against hers at every chance. While she knew in this country personal space was much more intimate than in the States, it was evident that William Rivas was shrinking those boundaries even more.

She had no intention of forming any more than a professional arrangement with this man, but suspected she needed to be watchful. He was already in bed with the hospital and the messages he was sending clearly alluded he wanted to be in bed with her. It was an unfortunate occupational necessity to remain on at least polite terms with the largest benefactor of the hospital. She had merely been in the country a few months, having yet to learn who's who, but she was astute enough to know that burning bridges with the hospital's cash cow with nine months left on her contract would make for a very troublesome year.

The game became increasingly aggressive as time ticked away. It bordered on violent. Late in the second half, a cheap slide tackle was made by a player from Rivas' team, in all likelihood retaliation for his injured Bata teammate. The opposing player went momentarily airborne, landing on his left wrist.

"Crack!"

The bone snapped, she was certain she heard it splinter from where she was standing, a mere 30 meters away. Callie shuddered at image of the breaking bone. One could easily see, with the naked eye, the shattered bone protruding from the arm. Gasps from shocked spectators were heard throughout the stadium at the revolting sight. They continued to resonate when it was magnified tenfold by the giant video screen during the graphic replays.

The player, visibly in dire pain, was taken immediately from the stadium by ambulance. As the game drew to a close, her pager went off, requesting her presence at the hospital. Callie speculated that this was for the wrist injury she had just witnessed. Callie collected her jacket and purse to depart the stadium. She knew Alvaro would dutifully be waiting at a predetermined spot.

William Rivas seized her arm as she was leaving the sideline, "Where are you going? I thought you were going to join the team for dinner?" he tersely questioned.

"I'm sorry, I've been called into work," she earnestly explained. Not to mention, it was the first she had heard about her supposed dinner plans.

"It is not your concern, the other player. Your loyalty lies to this team. Let another surgeon handle it," Rivas stringently advised.

Insulted by his callousness, Callie responded, "William, I am the hospital's orthopedic surgeon. I don't pick and choose my patients. You and I both know that I am the person who is supposed to repair that break. I don't elect sides. I don't care what team he plays for. Furthermore, I certainly don't take direction from you as to whom I can treat and whom I can't. Am I clear?"

Rivas glared at Callie and then walked away, sneering. William Rivas found the beautiful, female physician tantalizing. He decided to patronize her by letting her feel she won this round. He would just need to bide his time. He silently decided, _"How naive you are . So you've decided to up the ante, have you?"_ He did not like to lose. Actually, he never lost. _"Game on, Dr. Torres, game on,"_ he privately thought.

Callie found Alvaro waiting in the car and he drove her to the hospital. The player had suffered a nasty break, but nothing she couldn't handle. As he dropped her off at the entrance to the emergency room, she said, "Alvaro, go home. It's going to be late by the time I finish and it's already been a long day. I'll just take a cab."

He grimaced at her suggestion, insisting to wait for her, "No. It is my job, Madam," he said. Alvaro she trusted, he made her feel safe, a big brother of sorts. She was not sure why, they shared few conversations. He seemed to have a protective manner. Later that night, she finally was on her way home.

Sitting in the backseat, tiredly gazing out the window as the car rumbled down the quiet streets, she reflected on her earlier interaction with Rivas. Rivas she definitely didn't trust. It seemed he paid his way to power, but she wasn't buying in.

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A new face greeted Callie Sunday afternoon as Alvaro dropped her off on the periphery of the city. "Dr. Torres, I presume."

Word had spread about her volunteer efforts. A missionary nun, Sister Tia, introduced herself and asked Callie to accompany her on a short walk. Callie had never wandered to this area before. They arrived at a shanty behind the crudely constructed church aptly named, _Nuestra Señora de los Milagros_.

The decrepit space was a provisional health clinic run by the church. It was open haphazardly. Traveling nurses and doctors would make rounds in the country, seeing the poorest of the poor. Every few weeks their travels brought them here, though the staffing was erratic and often impromptu.

Sister Tia and her colleagues attempted to fill in the gaps. "Dr. Torres, you would be a great asset," the nun pitched. "Perhaps a calling," she added, determined to recruit Callie.

Callie shook her head immediately as the words left the nun's mouth, thinking about her mother's prediction. She scoffed, "Umm, I'm not sure I would go that far. The Church and I don't see eye to eye on some things."

Sister Tia stopped and looked intently at Callie, "Don't confuse dogma with faith. Or for that matter what is in your head, with what's in your heart. There can be a world of difference. Don't get me wrong, brains are great, but personally, I'm a heart and soul person," she winked in amusement.

The future seemed so futile for those here, but Sister Tia oozed optimism. She proudly noted, "Our church is called _Our Lady of Miracles_ for a reason."

Callie smiled and the two continued walking. Callie conceded, "I think I can find some spare time to help out."

The dreary space was a far cry from a sanitary facility, but it was the only health clinic for miles. It offered free medical services, no questions asked. The clinic did its best to acquire vaccines and medicine, but supplies were always lacking and they always fell short in meeting the needs. It was heartbreaking to turn away a patient, especially a child, yet it was common.

The missionary was attempting to create medical records for the local population, particularly for the children to reduce the deadly illnesses like polio, measles and tetanus.

Often, children died in this continent before their fifth birthday. Vaccinations could reduce that fatality rate, but supplies were meager.

The hospital left this place alone; it was frequented by a population who did not have the means to pay. People who fell between the cracks, those often without a country or a home. Some escaping their native lands with only the clothes on their back, these families tried to distance themselves from horrific warfare, poverty and destitution, searching for a safe haven, which often was merely the lesser of two evils. The needs of this burgeoning community were so great and costly, the hospital was more than willing to let the missionary operation do its thing. It was a financial no-brainer.

Vaccinating children and creating vaccination schedules was a priority. But it remained an uphill battle. Children came and went without warning or explanation. Callie had heard of the many immigrants and their quest for a better life, the populace was often transient. Even worse, Callie heard it was not uncommon for children and teens to be sent away or even sent here parentless, to this 'affluent' country by relatives who made a small profit on the 'transaction', essentially slave labor. It broke Callie's heart, but child trafficking was a cruel reality in this part of the world and the corrupt government did little to curtail it. The efforts to hold accountable the people victimizing these children were cursory at best.

Callie managed to bring supplies with her each visit, along with a pocketful of sweet treats. There was a renewed sense of purpose each time she visited. Her presence was a breath of fresh of air, her smile contagious and her energy endless.

It took a few weeks for José's foot to heal. Callie brought him a gift on the day she removed his stitches. She needed to lance the infection and debride the area, resulting in the need for sutures. Callie brought her young friend a new pair of red sneakers. The boy's eyes lit up at the sight. "Please wear them, you need to keep that foot clean," she explained. She then pulled out a second present, a new soccer ball. "Go play," she directed with a smile.

After spontaneously bear hugging and thanking his beloved doctor, "Gracias! Gracias!" José took off for the door. Callie beamed as she saw a handful of children gather for a makeshift soccer match. The chatter and the laughter of the children were invigorating. Though the youth played barefoot on the gravelled terrain, these kids were happy and so appreciative of the little they had. At that moment in time, not one of them was thinking about what complications and barriers their futures held for them.

"Cuidado!" Callie yelled out, though she knew her request for caution would be lost amidst the youthful exuberance. Smiling at the playful energy, she knew it would not be long before someone would need a Band-Aid or two, along with a hug. She even had become quite adept at patching up the balls, making sure she always had duct tape and an air pump on hand. It had been so long since anyone had truly needed her; it made her feel whole.

Small renovations were happening at the clinic. The newfound success of the clinic gave way to more community generosity. Sister Tia knew that Dr. Torres' involvement helped the clinic gain popularity and respect. The nun was given a transformed sense of purpose with the advent of the dynamic, orthopedic surgeon, whom she regarded as a gift from God. Callie's expertise had evolved to more of a jack of all trades, not just specializing in bones.

Over the next months, Sr. Tia was bouncing with joy, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she said as she knelt before the altar. Donations to the church and more specifically the clinic were increasing. The business community responded favorably. The nun was exploding with excitement, making some comparisons to the loaves and the fishes. The donations would never be solutions to many of the problems that plagued the area. They were just better and bigger Band-Aids, but they still made a positive difference. They allowed for hope.

In addition to the supplies donated through the church, Callie always managed to finagle medical supplies as well for the clinic. Sister Tia was thrilled to have the needs of her beleaguered community met. Though, she worried, "Dr. Torres, you are way too generous. You are spending too much of your money and too much of your time here."

"It's fine. Don't worry. I'm fine," Callie insisted.

Sister Tia could not dispute how much joy it gave the American doctor to give of herself. It was evident by the smile on Callie's face that it was far greater to give than receive. She always dismissed the nun's worries.

Dr. Emilio Montalban was aware of the extracurricular activities of Dr. Torres. The hospital did not believe her efforts were taking away from their facility in any way. On the contrary, she only made the hospital look good for the occasional public relations campaign. The developed world looked down on the crude healthcare available in the continent. The rural clinic would be considered a step in the right direction. It's affiliation with the renown American doctor could only help. The doctor continued to go above and beyond in all her shifts, plus she was now the official team surgeon for the national soccer team. It seemed to be a win-win all around; except for the fact that Callie was clearly over-extended.

Maria Rosa worried about her boss. Dr. Torres was working way too hard. Sure, she had no family or social life, regardless the physician left very few hours for sleep. Not to mention William Rivas had been placing unceasing personal demands on the American doctor to treat his players, his relatives and his employees. The man had an annoying habit of always touching her, her hand, her arm, her back and even her face. Maria could see the doctor flinch at the contact. Most women found the man handsome and desirable, but not Dr. Torres. Maria was glad that someone finally had the backbone to not cave to his advances or be seduced by his money. But she prayed that Dr. Torres would not have to pay too high a price to maintain her scruples.

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A/N: Next chapter includes Arizona.


	5. Chapter 5

Let It Be - Chapter 5

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Richard Webber, the director to the Los Angeles based advocacy organization, _Humans First_, called out from his office as he saw the blond tresses bounce by, "Robbins, hold up there. I need to speak with you."

Arizona stopped short and turned around. She walked back, entering her boss' office, "What's up, Chief?"

Webber was sitting in his chair, his hand resting on his desk with the pads of his fingers pressed against each other.

He replied, "Hate to do this to you, but I need to send you to New York tonight."

Exasperated, Arizona plopped down in the over-sized arm-chair in front of his desk. Shaking her head in frustration, she said, "Tell me you're joking."

"There is a meeting of the minds in New York City tomorrow regarding the situation and progress in Haiti. They want your input. Special request for you. You just got back assessing the situation."

"No Chief, send someone else. You know I hate going to meetings. How are they going to handle when I tell them the local hospital is polluting the drinking water. The water source looks more like a dump than a river. Surely, they could figure out a better system for waste management. They are being short-sighted. People don't want to hear the truth, it's inconvenient," the woman firmly stated.

"Just give them the answers they are looking for, what they do with that information is up to them. Arizona, it's a circular debate, like the desalination plants. Fresh drinking versus the marine life, who the bad guy is depends on who's spinning the story," the older man reminded her.

"Don't get me going on that topic. We've already discussed my feelings on that one. Send someone else. Please Chief. I like to go where the action is, not sitting in some conference room hashing and rehashing what I already wrote in my report. They are all educated people. They can read, can't they?" she pleaded.

"It's not negotiable, Robbins." Webber sternly replied, "They specifically requested you. They trust you. You have the answers they need. That winning smile doesn't hurt either, don't forget to use it. Keep in mind; we ultimately get our funding through them. They are essentially the customer. So pack your bags, you have reservations on the red-eye. Meeting starts at 10:00am tomorrow."

Arizona pouted, making Webber chuckle.

"Look, when you get back I promise I'll give you something good. There's a hot project in the pipeline. I'll make sure it's yours." the Chief offered, attempting to appease his star.

A smug smile creeped on to her face, "If it's a hot project Chief, you and I already know it's mine. I'm that good. But just the same, I'll be on that plane tonight. I am reserving the right to pick my own team this time. I want final say. The last thing I need is to work with another drama queen who takes the group off task, letting personal emotions cloud judgment. Because, I won't hesitate to ship him or her home without a second thought."

Webber chuckled, "Hmm, like you just did with Stevens? She came crawling into my office with her tail between her legs last week, complaining you never gave her a chance."

"We all do grunt work. She was whiny. Who does she thinks she is, some prima donna or something?" Arizona disparagingly stated.

Webber smiled, "Well, she won't be working with you anytime soon. Fine, you can pick your people. But I'm not talking about it any further until you get back from New York. Play nice and don't piss anyone off there this time. Remember, we don't bite the hand that feeds us. And there-"

Arizona interrupted, "I know, I know, there's no such thing as a stupid question. But don't forget, meetings don't let me do my job, meaning the bad guys are winning." Arizona walked out, shaking her head in frustration.

Webber shouted after her teasingly, "The sooner you get back, the sooner you're back in the field."

The Chief leaned his head against the back of his chair, thinking about his protégé. Dr. Arizona Robbins was smart, ambitious and driven. He wasn't sure why she switched to advocacy from hands-on medicine. At one time, she was a rising star in pediatric surgery. He suspected something happened that made her prefer keeping people at a distance. He wasn't complaining, she certainly made him look good. Arizona Robbins had helped a lot of people by uncovering issues and problems that affected people, particularly children.

Her position with _Humans First_ made sure she was never in one place too long. Just long enough to get the job done, but not long enough to get attached. She traveled incessantly and her team members were constantly rotated. Situations were either black or white, there was no gray for the woman. Compassion, it was debatable whether she had any, at least where work was concerned. She was a self-avowed workaholic, so he doubted her heart beat for anyone but the job. Once she was given her task, she completed it with military-like precision. She never left survivors. The younger the victims, the more passionately she fought on their behalf. He was just glad she worked for him, and not against him.

Arizona walked down the hall, into her office and started packing her brief case for the meeting in New York. She noticed a message was left on her desk by the receptionist.

She picked up the small piece of paper and read it, "Dr. Robbins, your mother called at 1:15pm. She would like you to call her back - '_TODAY_'."

Arizona grimaced at paper and her mother's request. Obviously, her mother annoyingly insisted that the receptionist emphasize the word 'today'. In her head, she could hear her mother say, "Please stress that I would like her to return my call today." It was so embarrassing to be over thirty years old and her mother still checked on her, reminding her to call home. It made her feel like a teenager again. "Make sure you call us when you get there," her parents always insisted when she was younger and lived at home. She always would. But, that was then.

She could not fault them; she had been terrible at checking-in with her parents. Over the last few years she had become less attentive and phone calls to her parents were less frequent. Erratic would aptly describe her calls home now. She had been extremely busy, traveling all over, in and out of the country. But the truth was her parents frowned upon her workaholic lifestyle. Her parents worried about what would become of their only, remaining child. The dream of grandchildren had gone by the wayside once her brother died. But just because motherhood was not a priority in their daughter's dreams, it didn't mean she shouldn't have someone to love and be loved by.

She shut the door to her office and put the phone on speaker, so she could keep working while she talked. Arizona pushed the buttons on her desk phone and she heard the phone ring.

"Hello?" a pleasant voice greeted.

Arizona cheerfully replied, "Hi Mom. Uh, I got your message." Flustered, she added, "Really Mom, did you need to make such a big deal about calling today? Do you know how embarrassing that is? I'm a manager here, yet you treat me like a child."

"Actually, when you were a child and even a teenager, I never needed to ask. As an adult -," Barbara Robbins started to explain.

Ruffled, Arizona interrupted, "Mom! Stop, please. Look, you know I'd rather not have you call me at work?"

"Yes, I know dear, and I'm sorry. But, I also know the likelihood of you returning my call is far better if I call you at the office, at least there someone can confirm you're alive. You don't usually return my calls to your cell phone all that timely. I worry about you. Sometimes...," the older woman then hesitated a moment. "Sometimes I just need to hear your voice," Barbara tenderly confessed.

There was a momentary silence on the line before Arizona responded, melting at her mother's admission, "I'm sorry, Mom."

Barbara swiftly changed the subject before the call turned any more sentimental, "So, where have you been now?"

"Haiti and the Dominican. I'm leaving tonight for a quick trip to New York," Arizona enthusiastically changed gears, happy for the change in topic.

"Will we ever see you? We miss you, dear," Barbara sadly acknowledged.

"I miss you too, Mom. But it's really busy trying to save the world," she joked. "The Chief has another big job for me when I get back from New York, but after that one's done, I'll visit. I promise."

"Hmmm, I've heard that before," Barbara skeptically challenged

Arizona missed spending time with her parents, but she missed even more the happy family they once were. She felt the pressure was on her to restore that feeling. She didn't know how to make that happen. She knew her parents yearned for her presence and that sense of togetherness. But, she did not think she could fill the void her brother left and worried she'd disappoint them even more than she already had with her all work and no play lifestyle. After her brother died, she closed off her heart. She wasn't sure what would happen if she opened it. Visiting home was painful and she avoided it as often as possible.

"Hey Mom, I've got to go. I have to catch a flight to New York. Tell Dad I love him. Love you, Mom," Arizona said earnestly, with a hint of sadness.

"I think you're rushing this call just so I don't get to ask you twenty questions," Barbara playfully contested, though not necessarily in jest.

"Mom, there's nothing to tell you." '_Here we go again_,' Arizona thought. "You know, not everyone needs to be in a relationship to be happy," Arizona firmly insisted.

"Because working yourself to death is so enjoyable? You're a human not a horse, yet you choose to live your life with blinders on. You've become so focused on what's wrong in the world that you're missing all that is right and wonderful. There's more to life than work. Are you so scared of attachment that you've decided to just hide from it behind a paper and pencil? You've run from medicine, too. I want you to be happy, Honey," Barbara pleaded.

Arizona huffed in exasperation, "Mom, you know I use my medical degree in my job. I like what I do; I love my job. I'm hanging up now."

Realizing her pleas were already tossed aside, Barbara Robbins conceded defeat, at least this round. "Be careful, Arizona. Please. I love you, too," Barbara said as she ended the call and the perpetual discussion regarding her daughter's loveless life.

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A/N: Rating changes next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: The rating has now changed to "M". In a few instances, the story will include some 'coarse' language, implied abuse and violence.

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Let It Be - Chapter 6

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Hospital CEO Emilio Montalban had been very persuasive in convincing Callie to take on the role of team surgeon for Rivas' soccer team shortly after her arrival to Bata. "Dr. Torres, you are perfect for the job! Games are only once per week, at best. You wouldn't need to travel with the team. Just oversee the injuries, perform the necessary surgeries and dispense the appropriate medical advice, which, as the hospital's orthopedic surgeon, you already do. There wouldn't be a great commitment, more optics. That's it. This is a wonderful opportunity for us, a win-win."

Montalban held up a check, a bribe more like it. Callie didn't need to see the signature to know who it was from. "That's a lot of zeros," she discouragingly noted.

"Indeed it is and all for your department," Montalban happily shared. "Mr. Rivas seems to be enamored with your work."

'_He's enamored with my boobs,' _she thought. The check was a handsome contribution to the orthopedic department, meant to sway the surgeon to seriously consider _'the opportunity_'. Montalban was asking her to be a team player, though to Callie it felt more like she was taking one for the team.

It was a bit of a philosophical quandary. As an orthopedic surgeon, she realized that many of the players were not getting the proper treatment. Seeing the need, she felt obligated to agree. She needed to separate the players from Rivas. They probably liked him even less than she did.

"Fine, I'll do it," she cautiously consented. It made her connection to Rivas more tangible, more defined and more frequent. Her contract with the hospital was only for a year and she was already a few months into it at the time she agreed to formalize her relationship with the despicable man. She would just watch her step.

Now, months later, she had to admit, she was glad she agreed. Yes, Rivas continued to be a thorn in her side, but the players were so welcoming and respectful. She could not dispute how rewarding it was to work with these passionate athletes; she truly enjoyed that aspect of her job. Many were indebted to her expertise and thankful for her efforts. Prior to the doctor's presence, injured athletes were simply cut from the team, replaced by a player with healthier limbs. Dr. Torres got them back on the field again. Her training suggestions allowed players to reach a greater potential. Unlike the team's owner, Callie saw the athletes as people, not commodities. Yet, nothing was more annoying than to hear William Rivas take credit for her success. It irked her. He irked her.

Hospital politics and its offspring, gossip, were an international plague. Regardless of where she worked, workplace politics and gossip grew like a nasty mold. The names changed, but the issues were the same and the conversation was endless. She avoided being roped into them, intentionally avoiding water cooler type gatherings. Avoiding them was one thing, being the topic of conversation was another.

"That's Rivas' Western mistress." Or another hushed conversation she overheard, "There's Rivas' trophy. I heard he set her up with an apartment." The gossip confirmed she became the subject matter from time to time. Her affiliation with the married William Rivas certainly made the rounds. She would not put it past the deplorable man to be the one instigating such speculation.

She was resigned to the fact that what people conversed about was beyond her control, even if she was the subject of the conversation. Callie preferred the ignorance is bliss approach. She knew she was not involved with Rivas beyond a professional capacity. If people decided to say otherwise, she did not care to know. Distancing herself from the hearsay would minimize the hurt.

Callie found herself looking more and more forward to her time outside the city. It was rejuvenating. While she loved working with the athletes, her precarious relationship with Rivas prevented her from becoming too immersed. Her work at the hospital was satisfactory, not unlike what she left in Seattle. Her only trusted allies within the hospital walls were Maria and Alvaro. She was thankful for them both. There may have been other potential friendships, but truth be told, she kept her distance from people in general. She was determined to safeguard her fragile heart.

The community on the outskirts was an entirely different story; they embraced her and she reciprocated. "Dr. T, Doctora T," greeting her with open arms. Their genuine manner and humbleness was heartwarming. Often without a cent to their name, people would try to give her their most cherished belongings in trade for her services. Callie always politely refused, their palpable thoughtfulness was payment enough. These folks trusted her without question. Her reputation was stellar.

Callie used her resourcefulness to round up supplies, medicine and food. She often personally filled in the gaps with material items, which Sister Tia happily accepted. "Is Generosity your middle name?" the nun would quip. The hospital helped as well, but was more stingy with support. Though, it had no issues flaunting the efforts of the orthopedic surgeon when a public relations story was needed.

Callie's guarded heart was no match for the people living on the outskirts. They easily disarmed it. Once unlocked, Callie unwittingly let this wonderful community in. In their neighborly midst, she was defenseless. The only agenda these selfless folks had was surviving, trying to eke out a better existence and future. They were so appreciative of whatever Callie did to help their families.

The camaraderie in the community made Callie sad to think of what she used to have in her life, perhaps what could have been her life if things had been different. Was it even possible to have friends, good times and honest relationships with people who loved you not for what you had, but for who you were? Or was that notion just another ridiculous fairy tale masqueraded as reality by the media? The clinic filled those emotional voids, and she was appreciative of every moment she spent with these people.

As she frequented the meager clinic, she ended up befriending a few of the traveling practitioners. The medical personnel who visited the clinic often changed, but she found the values and legitimate compassion of these missionary health care workers a constant. It was nice, on occasion, to have dinner or drinks with some of these Good Samaritans. In between their visits, it was a revelation to her that she actually missed casually socializing. When it finally dawned on her, Callie knew she was well on her way to being whole once more.

Occasionally, she would invite the group to her apartment for dinner. She reveled in the chance to cook for more than one. With some guidance from Maria, Callie had become quite savvy in preparing dishes from the local cuisine. Along with enjoying a delectable meal eaten in an air conditioned, insect-free space, the visitors were excited for the change in scenery, which included a hot shower and roof over their head, even some mindless TV. Some nights the guests would camp out at her place, after a long night of eating, drinking and conversation.

The latest medical team in the area was from Europe. The traveling healthcare staff would return every few weeks to the Bata outskirts after roaming the countryside. As had become her routine, Callie had the entourage over for dinner. Her guests, somewhat inebriated by night's end from the bottles of Malamba and palm wine, sprawled on the couch, and on the floor in sleeping bags. Callie offered her bed, if someone did not mind sharing it with her. On this night, one of the nurses from France, Emeline, accepted her invitation.

Maybe it was the wine or the conversation or even the loneliness, but Emeline's hand made its way up Callie's leg. Callie was startled.

"Are you going to tell me you are not enjoying this?" Emeline asked seductively. She clearly saw Callie's flushed cheeks and the want in her eyes.

Callie stammered at the question, "I…no. Well..."

"Relax; think of it as two friends helping each other out. No strings. Friends with benefits, nothing more. Believe me; I am good, very, very good." Emeline, with her alluring French accent, was irresistible.

Emeline had dark eyes and auburn hair styled in a pixie cut. Her features were complimented by soft, olive skin. She was beautiful. It never occurred to Callie to see Emeline as anything more than a friend, but on this night, once she was tempted with Emeline's provocative touch, Callie longed for physical intimacy. Emeline was very desirable, Callie could not deny that. It had been so long since anyone had caressed her in a way that made her feel that good, Callie lacked the willpower to pull away. Truth be told, she drunk in the feeling and allowed herself to be pleasantly enticed.

Emeline was enjoyable. She put the fun in their functional and physically satisfying relationship. When in town, Emeline liked adventure and on occasion would join Callie on her trips to the souk, exploring the wares, the African cuisine and mingling with the locals. They continued to partake in each other's company, in and out of the bedroom, when the traveling medical team came into town for restocking of supplies or for the planned clinic days. However, both understood the value in discretion.

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Emilio Montalban called a meeting of his department heads one morning. The Bata Hospital received notice that a watchdog group, _Humans First,_ would be visiting the hospital during their upcoming trip. Physicians and staff were directed to make time for the group. He emphasized that it was just not the hospital board of directors who welcomed the request by the group to scrutinize their dealings, but also government officials. This was an opportune time to let the world know there was nothing to hide. Montalban advised his staff that this was part of a larger PR campaign the country was working on to improve its image that care for its population was improving and the welfare of children was of paramount importance. His mandate reflected the party line, his tone reflected his personal feelings on the subject, which summed up in one word was: annoyance.

"We are being reviewed by an American watchdog group," he irritably said. "They want to measure the improvements in our healthcare since the last evaluation. There damn well better be positive change. Anyone is replaceable," he barked.

Callie shrugged off the concern as she left the meeting. She was a newcomer, so she was ignorant on past practices, which may have been less than appropriate. These types of matters were not even on the radar back home. Here, in Bata, she built her department from the ground up. "Ortho went from nothing to something. If that's not positive change, nothing is. The ER department," she noted, thinking back to her run-in months ago, "now they should be worried," she surmised.

"Dr. Torres," she heard a voice beckon from behind as she left the conference room.

Turning around she saw William Rivas. She stopped, standing firmly in place. If he wanted to have a conversation with her, he would need to approach her. "Hello William," she acridly greeted.

"Good morning, Cal," he replied as he stepped even closer.

"Did you need to speak with me?" she coldly asked.

"Am I not allowed to say hello to my favorite doctor?" he crooned. She clenched her jaw with his sickly, sweet greeting.

He did not bother to wait for her reply. "Actually, I have a meeting with Emilio," he authoritatively divulged. "Business matters," he said dismissively, as if she was too obtuse to comprehend the financial side of life.

"_Arrogant bastard,_" she thought. "Well, I need to go. Have a nice meeting, William," she responded as she turned around to head to her office.

Unbeknownst to her or the other physicians, the hospital president was notified that the watchdog group's would also be focusing on a person who was affiliated with the hospital as a donor. The person in question appeared to be involved in human trafficking and all his affiliates were being put under a microscope, which included the hospital. No names were provided at this point.

While Emilio Montalban felt there was no cause for immediate alarm, he suspected who the alleged violator was. He knew Rivas was a wheeler dealer, but the man had extricated himself from stickier situations before. No doubt he would be able to deflect these accusations as well. As president of the hospital, Montalban's primary concern was the financial wellbeing of his institution so it would function effectively. What happened outside of the hospital walls was of no concern to him. He couldn't be held accountable for how people chose to live their lives. Just the same, a discreet conversation with the charitable man would be prudent.

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Now nine months into her stay, Callie had managed to precariously balance the demands of her work and volunteering. She was naturally drawn to those in need over those patients she saw in the comfort of the hospital, not that she could call the hospital patients wealthy by any means, but they clearly were better off than the poor souls living on the perimeter of the city.

She remained frustrated that she could not escape William Rivas' relentless pursuit of her or at least her services. Even more annoying was that he seemed to control the hospital administration and some staff. The exceptions were Maria and Alvaro. She trusted them immeasurably, having no reason not to.

It was really quite a conundrum. The hospital was obviously thrilled that Callie established a successful, professional relationship with Rivas. His generosity made that certain. She was helping the soccer team in a medical capacity and the recovery rate from injuries made her legendary in soccer circles. Her success in the operating room was no less esteemed, gaining the hospital much fame and notable monetary donations. Despite the success she earned in the hospital, she felt lacking and unfulfilled in her roles there.

Rivas was very public about the team's successful orthopedic surgeon, who just happened to be an eye-catching female. He was undeterred by her resistance to his sexual overtures. He thrived on money and fame first and foremost. Callie knew she was nothing more than an accessory that he toyed with at his leisure. His team had reduced their injuries, and the recovering rate for those players who were hurt was the quickest in the league. Most importantly, Rivas' team was winning. He frequently insisted she attend meetings and planning sessions for the soccer team that conveniently took place over dinner in public settings. As the team physician, her presence was required.

On more than one occasion, Callie needed to rebuff his frisky advances, which only encouraged his persistence. It seemed to be more of a game to him, playful give and take, until one night. After a business meeting in the private dining room at an upscale restaurant, he asked her to stay a bit longer, after everyone else had left. He needed to discuss the prognosis of a particular up and coming star.

After Callie earnestly reviewed the player's charts with Rivas, and explained that the man would be back to full strength in just a few weeks' time, as long as he followed the prescribed physical therapy regimen, she gathered her files to leave.

She bent down to pick up her briefcase when suddenly she was forcibly embraced from behind by Rivas. She froze at his touch. He pressed his groin firmly against her. It was unmistakable what he had in mind. Callie tried to pull away, but he clutched her tighter.

She had enough. With all her strength, she thrust her elbow into Rivas' stomach. It caught him off-guard and caused the wind to be knocked out of him. He doubled over in pain and surprise. As she stepped safely away from his reach, she yelped, "Please stop! I am not interested in having anything but a professional relationship with you. Either you cease all these personal pursuits or I'm quitting my position as team physician. Have I made myself clear?" Callie firmly stated, doing all she could to keep her composure.

Bitter at being on the receiving end of an ultimatum, delivered by a female no less, he heaved, "Crystal," angrily glaring at the audacious woman before him. She saw the contempt in his eyes, unsure if her problems with Rivas were finally done or far from over. She reminded herself that she just needed to get through three months.

Fearful of what the inflamed man may do next once he caught his breath, she grabbed her purse and briefcase, running from the room to the car where Alvaro was waiting. Her trusted driver took one look at Callie in his rearview mirror and immediately knew something had happened. As the tears dripped down her face, Alvaro gleaned whatever transpired, it was surely Rivas at the root of it. Rivas's notoriety was that of an unscrupulous womanizer. Wordlessly, Alvaro drove her home. Though, he insisted on escorting her right to the door of her apartment. Callie was thankful for his presence.

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A/N: To those continuing to read, follow and review, thank you very much. Any questions or concerns, please PM me. Arizona is in the next chapter.

Cycworker kindly offered to act as a sounding board if I needed one. As I reached this chapter, I needed another opinion and took her up on the thoughtful offer. Many thanks to her.


	7. Chapter 7

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The watchdog organization, _Humans First,_ had just been tasked with their next project. It was a high-profile job evaluating improvements in the areas of healthcare and education in Equatorial Guinea. Also, the group was asked to dig further into the allegations of human trafficking issues as it pertained to children in the country.

Arizona Robbins distributed the dossier on this next project to her team members. She would be traveling as the lead with April Kepner, Alex Karev and Jackson Avery to perform the site review, audit documents and interview personnel. It was to be a five-day stay in-country, with extra travel time tacked on each end.

The accusation floating around was children were being forced to spend their childhood not in classrooms or on playgrounds, but laboring countless hours in fields, on boats, as servants, in businesses and even performing more horrific tasks. If the youngsters were paid, it was for mere pennies.

Of course, it was far from an allegation, it was a well-known, published fact. The credible World Factbook stated it quite clearly for anyone to read. Equatorial Guinea was both a source and a destination for human trafficking. Destitute immigrants and poverty-stricken residents were said to be coerced into slave-like service, at times encouraged by parents. It was a longstanding issue in the country. It occurred in the smallest of businesses to the largest.

There were only a few major players in this African country who had the financial and physical resources to coerce would-be laborers with any consistency on a large scale. Any official inquiries to particular children merely got the youngsters in question swiftly whisked away, without any documentation. It was purposely a convoluted operation, so no clear trail was visible. Where the people came from was never exactly clear. Who knew where the unfortunate victims ultimately end up. These unknowns perhaps landed in even more dire circumstances from whence they came. When the occasional, superficial crackdown happened by officials, the audacious operations merely substituted the young bodies with fresh faces.

The international community demanded answers and action; it was time for someone to be held accountable. Though no non-governmental watchdog group resided in the country, sending one to check on the status was prudent. _Humans First_ was just the group to take on this investigation and one woman in particular had the backbone to firmly take the reins in order to get the job done as desired.

Arizona shared the staggering and depressing statistics with her team, "Worldwide, human trafficking generates $30 billion in profits annually. We're talking over one million people sold into servitude each year. Half are children, the majority female. One of the harshest truths is that in this country sometimes parents are enabling this just to put food on the table."

A four member team would be traveling to the country to perform a site inspection. The government had been more than receptive to their visit, they welcomed it. Equatorial Guinea officials were anxious to finally receive a positive report. They would show the world they were changing, becoming more humanitarian in areas like healthcare and education, and dispel rumors that human trafficking was tolerated in their country.

Equatorial Guinea, now a major oil supplier, wanted to improve its relations with the United States and gain some international respect in the Western world. Becoming even more frustrated as she read, Arizona noted, "Be prepared folks, this place doesn't necessarily play by the rules. Even the World Bank and other organizations have cut their aid programs to them due to the corruption. Be meticulous in your note taking."

As she read further, Arizona discovered, in terms of exports, the United States was the largest single recipient of Equatorial Guinea oil. The US imported almost thirty percent. But it was a two-way relationship; the United States also invested billions into the country. "No wonder they want us to go. Positive press would benefit both parties," she advised.

However, Arizona was peeved. She ranted to her team, "Here, the United States knows the country is allowing people, children no less, to be used in this deplorable manner, yet we continue to invest in the country and buy their oil?"

The team was doing much advance research and planning prior to their departure so their time in the country would be efficiently utilized. The bulk of the trip was standard operating procedure for these types of reviews. What they knew so far was it was not just big business involved with the trafficking. There were many instances it was a small-time fisherman or cocoa farmer who secured illegal labor. The person may have only a few children enslaved, though even one was one too many.

This trip had a small caveat. A larger operator was identified, one who took advantage of many vulnerable souls. A name of a kleptocratic businessman recently surfaced and the team was tasked with uncovering as much information as possible to document the injustices connected to the man.

In the course of the review, any names that surfaced, not just the ring leader but cohorts of the major player, needed to be noted. Usually the leads in a large-scale operation would wriggle away, but even so, crippling the organization at its lower levels would still be productive. One-on-one interviews were planned. They needed to carefully document the names, the places, and the how's of the local trafficking process. While this was primarily an information-gathering assignment, the government of Equatorial Guinea assured _Humans First_ that it would take the group's report seriously this time. International pressure made that necessary.

"We probably won't get much info here, but at least a lead or two so when we get in-country, we can hit the ground running. We'll meet back tomorrow morning, then leave the day after that. Let's get to work," Arizona sternly advised.

Dr. Robbins did not give the appearance of being warm and fuzzy. She had more of a pit bull reputation when it came to doing her job. However, she was the consummate children's advocate. She hated anyone who would use or harm a child for personal gain and she had an excellent track record. For most inquiries, she was the lead investigator of choice. Extremely organized, she expected perfection from her staff, who would say she was OCD and her zest for anal details was exhausting. She got the job done right, leaving few survivors in her wake.

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* * *

Callie focused more than ever on her outreach after her incident with Rivas. She continued to stock the clinic, with extra soccer balls thrown in for good measure.

The hospital tolerated her volunteering as long as there was neither financial impact to them nor took away from her scheduled time. How the doctor chose to spend her free time or paycheck was her business. Still, Callie was very aware of optics, making it a point to stay longer on her hospital shifts than needed.

As it turned out, Callie did look like the Pied Piper. As soon as the children saw Alvaro's car, they ran to greet her. "Dr. T., you're finally here!" the children shouted. Callie glowed in their company.

Often, she made time to play with the youngsters. "Pass to me! Pass to me!" they begged. Callie made sure everyone was included. Their soccer games ultimately would mimic American football, as the children managed to playfully tackle her to the ground with hugs. It was hard not to notice how naturally Callie took to children of all ages. She relished her time with the youth of the community. She was addicted to their vivacity and affection. On any given day, there were many different faces, but the playfulness never fluctuated.

Callie continued to meet all expectations, making herself available for the soccer team and the hospital first and foremost. Since her altercation with Rivas, he had kept his distance, which was a relief. She chided herself on not speaking up sooner. She should have anticipated that Rivas' testosterone-laden soccer team would preempt his yen for female frolics. His team was in the heart of its season and had command of first place. Rivas was calculating enough to know that he needed his surgeon on the field more than he needed her in his bed, so he kept a prudent distance.

* * *

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* * *

The following Saturday, Callie was anxious to get to the village. A busy agenda was planned, including another big vaccination push. The medical team from the traveling clinic was due to arrive at some point during the day and that meant of course, Emeline. After the hassles of the previous couple weeks, the after-hours socializing with her European friends would be a welcomed change of pace. The night would be topped off with some stress relieving distractions she mused.

As the car turned the corner, Callie could easily see the hordes of people waiting to be seen. The minute she stepped out of Alvaro's car, she was swarmed. The children hugged her, embracing her legs, her arms and torso. Callie grabbed from her bag a handful of hard candy for them to share. One little girl tugged at Callie's shirt and held up her hand, showing a dirty cut. "Doctora T, look," the child pouted.

Callie smiled at the young girl, picking her up and carrying her to a bench. "Hey, let's see what I have in my bag to make this better." Pulling out some antiseptic and colorful, children's bandages, she cleaned and covered the wound, adding a kiss for good measure. "All better!"

The doctor never got further than the bench; her fan club queued up for their chance to see her. Some folks needed advice, others waited for a vaccine and there were those requiring a bit more medical care.

Callie had worked for hours before she managed to finagle a break. On her way back from the toilet, she detoured by one of the European doctors, "Hey Rob, I haven't seen Emeline, do you know where she is?" Callie casually inquired.

Rob looked at her surprised, "Emmy's gone, I thought you knew. She needed to go home. Family emergency. I'm not sure of the specifics. She was pretty upset. She left a few days ago. I'm surprised she didn't let you know."

Callie's heart sunk as she mourned another loss, _'Why, without a word? I know, no strings, but not even a goodbye...,' _Callie tried to make sense of her friend's abrupt departure. She kicked herself for lowering her walls just enough to get hurt again.

_"_Umm, no we didn't talk. Between work and the team, I've been crazy busy. I'm sure she tried, but I haven't been available. She probably emailed, but I haven't even had time to check in a few days," Callie justified, her heart splintering as she spoke.

Callie had been swamped. Between the hospital, the team and the clinic, there had not been one free moment. She couldn't remember the last time she even bothered to check her personal email and she was now annoyed that she had been so lax. But she so rarely received emails. The empty inbox only served as a depressing confirmation of friends she no longer had. Though she would check it later, she conceded it was a moot point.

Rob reminded her, "Dinner tonight?"

Back pedaling, she said, "No, I can't make it. That's what I needed to tell Emeline." She lied, "I have a team dinner."

"We'll miss you!" Rob genuinely answered. "Next time."

"Right, next time," she sadly replied.

Callie pushed through the afternoon, forcing her focus to remain on the medical needs in front her. Tomorrow was a big soccer match, so at least she would not have too much time to think about the abrupt departure of her friend. Nonetheless, she felt the loneliness start to seep back in.

* * *

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* * *

The four member group from _Humans First_ arrived in Bata late Sunday night. Arizona Robbins reminded her team to be ready for work bright and early in the morning, regardless of the time difference and disrupted sleep schedule. The team initially would work out of a conference room at the hotel where they were staying. So first thing Monday morning, three fatigued souls dragged their weary, jet-lagged bodies to the conference room only to find their boss already with her nose eagerly to the grindstone.

Dr. Robbins was a control freak and a relentless taskmaster. They often commented amongst themselves that the woman must have no social life to speak of. Who in her right mind would even put up with the workaholic? But, Dr. Robbins also was given the cream of the crop when it came to assignments because of her drive. The staff of _Humans First_ competed for those slots. Under her tutelage, employees were frequently given preference for promotions. She knew how good she was and how hard she could push.

Alex grumbled as he tiredly walked through the conference room door, spying the cheery blond already hard at work. He gnarled, "You can't be human. Humans are required to eat _and_ sleep. And you don't sleep. No wonder you're not in a relationship. Who would have you?"

Blue eyes pierced the exhausted man. Arizona Robbins may like Alex, but his comments crossed the line. Yes, she knew she had no social life. He was correct, no one would tolerate her hours and she never met a person worth changing her work ethic for. Her job was more satisfying than her love life, so she focused on the job. At this stage in her life, she gave up on loving people and poured all her attention into love of her job

"That's enough, Alex! Another comment like that and you'll be on the next plane out of here and in need of a new assignment," she snapped.

Arizona knew Alex's comments weren't meant to be cruel, they were just unfiltered. She liked Alex, he called it the way he saw it. He was honest, painfully so at times. She appreciated that. She was grooming him to take over for her. He was that good. She was gunning for Richard's job. The old guy had to be close to retirement and when he did, she would jump right into his shoes. She was the heir apparent. Alex just needed to keep his mouth in check, so he wouldn't screw up both their futures.

"Sorry, Boss," he mumbled. He knew his comments were below the belt. He knew his boss. Sure, there were a couple people she let get close, but after a failed relationship or two, he knew she vowed never to let herself be that vulnerable and let anyone in enough to risk the pain of another heart break. The concept of 'no pain, no gain' was lost on her. He shook his head. Dr. Robbins may be a smart woman, but she sure was dumb when it came to love, thinking she could control that too.

Jackson Avery observed after spending hours scrutinizing paperwork that he and Alex had rounded up. "There are a few names that have repeatedly shown up on documents as affiliates of our bad boy Rivas. A few seem to be connected with him in multiple ways."

Karev piped in, "This scumbag has got some bucks, millions of 'em. He owns a dozen businesses in the place. The guy even has a law degree, no wonder he's so slippery. '_Hahvad_' boy, though it doesn't look like he practices. Smug looking prick."

Arizona nodded as her eyes pored over the documents before her, storing the data in her impressive memory banks. "We need to identify his henchman," she distractedly declared, her eyes never drifting from the papers before her.

"Henchmen? Holy Diabolical Devils! What is this boss, Batman?" Karev quipped.

April giggled at his comments, adding, "Ooh, Batman and Robbins." Karev and Avery hooted at the wisecrack, made even more humorous coming from the mouth of the straight-laced Kepner.

Arizona groaned at the joke, rolling her eyes. "Cute, you guys. Real cute. You people know what I mean. This kind of person doesn't get his hands dirty; he's got people doing it for him. We need names. Try to locate any type of transaction or document. Who does he employ? Look at his donations, which are most likely disguised payoffs."

"This man Rivas seems to have quite a few children working for him, but they are supposedly relatives. We checked out a couple of his businesses earlier today. I don't see how he ties to this. If there is a common thread, I haven't found it yet," Avery said.

April, trying to connect the dots, discerned, "The names we were able to get have families living on the outskirts of town. There is no indication that people are blatantly recruiting door to door. There must be another, more discreet method. But the only common thread so far is where the families live, so I'm guessing there is some sort connection between the families who live on the perimeter of town and children working as laborers in area businesses.

Alex irritably countered, "Of course there is a connection, it's poor out there. Those people are sitting ducks. They live in shacks. There's not much else there, excerpt the squalor. The only viable business is a church with a small medical clinic. The paperwork is hard to decipher. The hospital provides some resources for the clinic. But so do local businesses. But not this guy we're looking at. He gives a ton of money to the hospital, but nothing to the clinic."

Avery questioned, "So this guy, who is supposedly the problem, has no direct ties to the clinic or that part of town? Why are we even wasting our time on him?"

Arizona authoritatively responded, "Well, first of all, we were told by very reputable sources he is a major player in trafficking. We know he is smart and has the legal knowledge to stay clear of wrong-doing. He shrewdly keeps his distance. It doesn't mean he's not dirty. Actually, in my mind, it gives me even more reason to suspect him. Where's the connection?"

Arizona suspected she knew some of what was happening, but waited for one of her team members to figure it out. "Do any of you have some thoughts on clinic and people used as laborers?"

After a minute or two of impatient silence, Arizona blurted, "What I think is happening is someone is using the medical files as some kind of sales list. The clinic is a perfect front. My hunch is after the child is deemed healthy and the family identified as needy, he or she is mysteriously disappearing from the local community. There are flags here. Find out who has access to that data. Maybe we can tie it to this Rivas. Those middlemen are as bad as the people directly using those children. I will be personally tracking them down this visit. I've been assured by government officials that this time there will be consequences," the blond doctor ranted.

* * *

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* * *

The hospital gossip chain had numerous scenarios floating through the halls second guessing why the Americans were spending time at the hospital. The revolving hospital conference room door, with physicians and staff members going in and out, only fueled speculation.

Callie Torres was oblivious to all of it. It did not help that she was exhausted and cranky. As the only official orthopedic surgeon on staff, her surgical schedule was bursting. She was rundown and overbooked. When she finally got around to opening the envelope labeled: _"Personal & Confidential. Addressee's Eyes Only"_ that had been dropped off the day before, surprise would be an understatement in describing her reaction.

She quickly scanned the letter. Then Callie read it a second time with her full attention. _"What! I have ties to someone under investigation, illicit dealings? The clinic! Are you kidding me? What do they think that Sister Tia has jumped to the dark side? That woman is a saint. Opportunity to clear my name, blah blah blah. This must be a misunderstanding. Ridiculous. If I don't they will considering filing a complaint, against me. Is this a joke? I don't have time for this shit. The letter looks like a form letter. Everyone probably got the same one. Dr. Arizona Robbins? You have got to be kidding me. Arizona friggin' Robbins. This has got to be one of Rivas' ploys to rattle me, to get me to run to him for help. Over my dead body. I'm not falling for this. Sure Dr. Arizona Robbins, I'll be happy to meet with you, if I ever have free time. I barely have time to pee." _Perturbed_, _Callie tossed the letter brusquely onto her desk.

Callie was totally flummoxed by the notice. It didn't help that her head was pounding and the ibuprofen she had taken didn't even make a dent in relieving the aggravating throb. Even worse, she bumped into William Rivas as she left her office.

_'Oh my God, can this day get any worse?'_ she silently grumbled as she saw Rivas approach.

"Dr. Torres, good you are here. Do you have a minute?" he sternly asked. Not waiting for an answer, he firmly grabbed her by the arm and escorted her back into her office. Rivas shut the door, and then locked it. Maria nervously watched from her desk.

"One minute is all I can spare for you," Callie curtly answered, as she tried to rip her arm from Rivas' grip, which only served to tighten his grasp. Misgivings echoed through her head, '_The man is pushy, he has all but given the hospital a blank check, but it comes with a price. He wants control and he wants me. He expects me to take extra special care of him, his family. He owns the soccer team here, so of course now I am the team's surgeon. I only have a bit left on my contract. Patience Callie, just be patient,'_ she convinced herself silently as Rivas' hot breath kissed her.

"We have a problem," Rivas stated.

* * *

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_A/N: Just a few facts about the horrible, worldwide problem of human trafficking for anyone __interested in learning more about it. Though this story is fiction, the problem is sadly real._

_27 million people are victims of modern-day slavery across the world._

_There are 161 countries affected by human trafficking, including the United States._

_1.2 million children are estimated to be trafficked each year._

_80% of the victims are female. 50% are children._

_Approximately 30% of victims are used for economic exploitation; more than 70% are being sexually exploited._

_In 46% of cases, the recruiter was known to victim_

_Profits from trafficked labor are estimated to be $32 billion USD annually._

_Source: Statistics are from Abolition Media and the Polaris Project._

_If you want to learn more about Equatorial Guinea, Google the World Factbook._


	8. Chapter 8

End of Chapter 7

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_'Patience Callie, just be patient_,' she convinced herself silently as Rivas' hot breath kissed her.

"We have a problem," Rivas stated.

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Chapter 8

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* * *

Rivas kept Callie's arm in a vice-like hold. She tried to jerk her head away as his moist, warm breath grazed her cheek.

"What do you mean _'we'_ have a problem?" replied Callie angrily as she attempted to squirm free of Rivas.

Rivas taunted, "It seems your work on the outskirts has not gone unnoticed."

Confused, Callie quizzed, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"There is some question as to what you are doing with your documentation," he responded in a menacing tone.

"I don't get what you mean by documentation. Do you mean the medical files? We see people; the clinic creates a medical history, a vaccination schedule. It's all standard," she innocently answered.

"There is some suspicion that your 'files' are being used for other purposes and what your true agenda is," Rivas revealed.

Callie tried to process what she heard, "I don't understand...What are you getting at?" she impatiently challenged. "My role? I'm a doctor."

"It's probably nothing, but...," Rivas casually dismissed as he arched his eyebrows.

His facial response unnerved her. Disconcerted, Callie nervously continued her questioning, "I'm not following you."

The arrogant man divulged, "There is a rumor that you are selling out your poor pathetic souls. Giving names of people, healthy children in particular, who can be used...productively, for lack of a better term."

Unclear as to what he was implying, Callie continued, "What?"

Rivas superciliously responded, "The accusation is that you are providing the names of children whose families are in need of money to business owners that need laborers."

The light bulb finally turned on for Callie, thinking of the large home and plantation Rivas owned. "Like some sort of indentured servant or slavery? Is this a sick joke?...Are you involved in this?"

"Dr. Torres, you have treated many of my pieces of property. Your hands are quite dirty, actually. You've actually made it quite convenient with your clinic. We can see who's available and healthy, and whose family is in need. It's even better, when there is an injury or sickness, the person is brought to you. You fix him or her up, and in no time the person is back to work, as good as new. It is your name on the files, not mine. The difference between you and me is that I have money and friends in important places. And you, well you just have me. If I go down, so do you. But, I'm not going anywhere. You, however, I would not be so confident. What a shame, with only a little time left on your contract." The arrogance dripped from the man's mouth.

"It's human trafficking. Don't you know that is what this country is being scrutinized for? That's why that group wants to talk to me. My God, they are children! You arrange for them to get a clean bill of health and then...," she gasped at the reality she was now connected with.

"But, of course. How do you think many of the businesses operate here? It's no secret. A healthy child yields a better output. He or she is more productive," he surmised.

Incredulous, Callie continued to grapple with the horrific circumstances. "You put them to work? You've taken them from their parents, their families. They don't get an education, they don't get a life," Callie frantically acknowledged.

"You gullible fool. Actually, what I offer them is far better than what they have. The parents are paid reasonably. I merely lease them for what is equivalent of twenty of your US dollars each year. I don't keep them forever. I give them back eventually. Really, they have other children. The money I pay the families allows for a better life. It gives parents the means to buy food," Rivas justified.

Disgusted, Callie blurted, "You worthless bastard."

"Do I need to spell it out for you, my dear? Essentially, I fund your department; I fund you. Your precious clinic outside of the city that you have gotten up and running – quite successfully I might add, was done with some of my money. Some of those supplies that miraculously show up are from me. It behooved me to ensure your success. I am one of the 'anonymous' donors and I have made it so I will remain anonymous. How many lives have you saved? You and I both know the answer is a multitude. In return, I am able to run my businesses more efficiently, with the reduced labor costs and so are my colleagues. I'm not greedy. My financial boon is willingly shared with those less fortunate - through you," Rivas haughtily declared.

Rivas' eyes bore into Callie as he continued to speak, "Your driver, Alvaro, he is on my payroll indirectly. The car he drives I pay for. You are now smack in the middle of this. It is your name to clear, not mine. Careful what you say to that watchdog group. See, you'll go down as the greedy physician. It will look like you were paid well for your services. I have arranged for...contingencies, just in case. You'd be surprised how easy it will be to connect the dots to you. You'll be kicked out - if you are lucky. Your medical license will be in jeopardy. You will have nothing. Or you can play my game, by my rules, and in doing so, continue to help the hundreds and hundreds of indigent souls you care so deeply for. It could be a very beneficial situation for all of us."

"Never," she angrily answered.

Before Callie could react, Rivas' clutch intensified. Callie's attempts to free herself were in vain - the man was too strong. Yet, she refused to stop struggling. She gathered all her might to extricate herself from his potent hold. She demanded, "Let me -"

Rivas sneered, finishing the sentence for her, "...go?"

As she fought to pull away, he sadistically released her, adding a forceful shove for good measure. Her momentum away from Rivas was violently stopped when she crashed into her desk. She winced in agony as her body cruelly collided with the desk's edge, her left breast catching the corner, jabbing her viciously.

Kneeling on the floor, pain exploded across her chest. She was paralyzed by this new level of perverse violence. Keeping her back to Rivas, Callie denied him the satisfaction of seeing her anguish, shielding the ache radiating from her body as the tears pooled.

He walked over to her. Standing behind her, his hand slowly slid the elastic band from her hair, releasing the pony tail. Her hair fell loosely. He ran his fingers through the strands. Bending over, he whispered in her ear, making sure his tongue flicked lightly against her skin, "But be careful, there are even worse outcomes," he leered.

Just then her pager beeped. "Saved by the bell?" Rivas hissed.

The door knob jiggled as someone tried to open the locked door. "Dr. Torres? The OR called up looking for you...Dr. Torres?" Maria beckoned from the opposite side of the door. Callie stiffened at the interruption

He turned to the door and called out loudly, "One moment, we're almost finished."

As he continued to stroke her head, he calmly added, "It was a pity your friend, Mademoiselle Emeline, had to leave so swiftly. You two were so..." He paused, grabbing a handful of hair and fiercely yanked it. "...close," he bitterly pointed out.

Releasing the strands from his grip, he caressed her hair once again, "She was gone, just like that, without a word...Like I said, I have a lot of friends."

"No...," Callie tried to stifle her shocked reaction, but failed to stop the audible gasp escaping from her mouth. Her head was swimming with the realization that this man had no ethics and no morals. He played to win, regardless of the cost. She worried if Emeline was safe. Did he threaten her or hurt her? It explained her friend's sudden departure. She berated her own self for becoming a liability. William Rivas made it clear - befriending Callie Torres was dangerous.

After adjusting Callie's hair so it hung evenly about her shoulders, Rivas straightened up. "Much better. I like it long," he said as he took a step back to admire his work. Having heard Callie's shocked reaction to the news regarding her French liaison, he was vaingloriously satisfied. He knew his admission would gnaw at her heart. Rivas headed for the door and unlocked it. Without a word, he brushed Maria Rosa aside with his arm as he crossed the threshold.

Callie could not even being to process what just transpired. She felt dirty with his touch. Her chest pounded in excruciating discomfort. She thought her head was about to shatter. She needed to figure this out. Callie wanted to run and hide, but she couldn't even move. Suddenly, bile crept up her throat. Quickly, she grabbed the trash can sitting next to her desk and emptied the contents of her stomach, retching until all that was left were dry heaves.

Maria rushed in, and saw the surgeon. She immediately noticed Dr. Torres on her hands and knees, leaning over the waste basket and vomiting into it. Her hair was no longer pulled back. "Dr. Torres!" Maria choked. Alarmed, she rushed over, and wrapped her arm around Callie. "What happened? What did he do to you?" the assistant worriedly demanded as she helped Callie to her feet. It was hard not to see Callie's bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks.

"I'm fine. Really," Callie whispered, as she used both hands to lean on the desk for support. "I'm not feeling well, that's all. Rivas always seems to bring on indigestion. I'll be fine in a moment," she stated weakly. After taking a few seconds to compose herself, Callie asked, "Maria, would you look in my top desk drawer for another hair tie? Mine broke."

Maria eyed the doctor uneasily. She reluctantly released her hold on her boss and walked to the other side of the desk. In the top drawer there were half-dozen hair elastics. Maria was not swayed by Callie's overconfident words. As she handed Callie the elastic, she challenged, "I don't believe you. You're not fine." The older woman waited a moment before continuing. "The OR called. Are you still able to do the surgery?" Maria worriedly inquired.

A boy was going to walk because of the surgery she was about to do. That was what she needed to focus on. She promised the youth he would be playing soccer in a few months. She owed him that chance; she had to stay focused. But she was in trouble, serious trouble. "Maria, I'm fine now. I can still do the surgery. Would you call down and tell the OR I'm on my way?" Callie asked without emotion. As much as she hated to leave the younger woman, Maria left the office and went to her desk to make the call.

Maria was upset with herself. She had heard some rattling against the door, and she thought she may have heard a whimper from Dr. Torres, but it was not enough to interfere with their conversation and certainly not a conversation with William Rivas. She was thankful that the operating room assistant called looking for her boss. It gave her a legitimate excuse to interrupt what her instincts screamed was an unhealthy situation. Seeing the aftermath of Dr. Torres' 'behind closed door' meeting with the intolerable man, she regretted not interrupting earlier.

Maria watched the pompous ass leave Dr. Torres' office, discarding her carelessly aside, with his cocky grin plastered on his face. She didn't need to hear a word to suspect at least part of what transpired. She heard enough gossip the last few days to know what was being said. She did not believe a word of it as it related to her boss. Maria knew all about William Rivas. With a heavy heart, she shook her head, knowing things were about to get worse for the doctor.

Maria watched Callie walk out of her office a few minutes later. She was certain the younger woman's glassy eyes reflected despair. It was the only emotion she could detect.

"Dr. Torres, one more thing," Maria reluctantly called out to Callie as she leaving. Callie kept her eyes averted, pretending to gaze at some x-rays, allowing no one to see she was on the brink of tears. Maria hated having to mention this, especially at this moment in time, but she had no choice.

Maria reluctantly explained, "That group is still here, they insist on talking to you. Dr. Montalban is requiring it." This was the last thing Maria wanted to burden Callie with, but she had no choice. Callie managed to evade the human rights group for the first few days. Her overflowing surgical schedule made it a necessity.

"See if you can stall them. Please," Callie requested despondently, still haunted by her interaction with William Rivas.

"One of them has been pretty persistent. You've been so busy and legitimately have had no free time. I've put them off all week," Maria explained.

"Make the appointment for the last minute. They leave tomorrow morning, make it for then," Callie suggested feebly. "The conversation won't be able to last too long that way." Callie needed to buy some time, unsure of how disastrous this predicament was at this point.

Callie liked Maria, she trusted her. Callie never questioned Maria's loyalties were to her first and foremost. But after learning about Emeline, Callie would not drag anyone else into this mess. Fortunately, Maria didn't ask a lot of questions, not that she needed to. Callie would figure out a way, by herself, as to how to extract herself from this mess she had created in her naiveté.

Maria thought the world of Dr. Torres. Maria had worked in the hospital for years. At sixty years old, she had seen many things, too much actually. Dr. Torres was making a difference. She got the clinic up and running. For years it was promised, but Dr. Torres made it happen. She was educating people, particularly girls on STDs, and proper pregnancy care. She fixed the broken arms and legs; she helped with vaccines, malaria, cholera and countless other diseases. She was the first person in a long time who actually followed through with plans to care for the poorest of the poor. She was teaching the poor to care for themselves.

The unpretentious doctor had no life outside of the hospital, soccer team and clinic, except when the traveling medical clinic came through. Maria often wondered what had happened that caused the young woman to flee here. She had run from something that much was clear. Selfishly, Maria wanted to keep her here. Dr. Torres was making a difference for her people; the people no one really cared about. But who was watching out for Dr. Torres? The woman seemed to have no one.

"I'll take care of it Dr. Torres," Marie confidently replied.

* * *

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* * *

Having successfully finished her surgical procedure on the young boy, Callie needed to get out of this place and think. Pain emanated from her head and chest. She felt like a bass drum in a marching band with mallets crashing in on her from all sides. Standing at the sink, she scrubbed her hands aggressively under the streaming water, trying to rid more than the OR germs from them as her mind processed her plight.

Without warning, a hand touched her shoulder, causing a jolt of static electricity to shoot through her, jarring her from her wallowing. "What the fuck?" Callie yelped at the uncomfortable sensation as she whipped around.

"Oh! Sorry about that," the stranger apologized. "I tried to get your attention when I first walked in, but you didn't seem to hear me. I guess I must have created a bit of friction. I always seem to do that to people when I wear these shoes."

The person looked confused as she stared a few seconds at the orthopedic surgeon. "Are you Dr. Torres?" the unfamiliar face finally asked.

"Yes," Callie curtly answered, still unnerved by the electric shock.

The woman appeared perplexed and asked again for confirmation, "Dr. Cal Torres?"

Annoyed with the repetitiveness of the questions and struggling to keep her composure amidst the pain, Callie snapped, "What do you want?"

The orthopedic surgeon's snarky callousness shook the visitor from her confounded state, causing her to lash out. The anonymous woman angrily replied, "I have tried to meet with you all week. But, you have been conveniently busy. We need to talk. I'm Dr. Arizona Robbins from _Humans First_. Your hospital president said you would make yourself available. Obviously, you've been avoiding me. Now, I am told by your assistant that you can only see me tomorrow morning, as I am walking out the door to meet my plane?"

"I'm busy, doing a real job unlike you who seems to think filing complaints and taking up my valuable time will change the world. Why the hell would I want to cancel my life-changing surgeries to meet with you?" Callie barked, hoping to mask her despair.

"Maybe it would be so you can convince me to not follow through on filing a complaint against you, which would have serious repercussions. Maybe it would be to give me another reasonable explanation for this horrific situation you seem to be smack in the middle of," the blond doggedly suggested.

Callie, shaking her head, questioned, "Would it really matter? I'm not sure you would even understand." Callie's minded drifted back to the conversation she had only a few hours earlier with Rivas. How could this woman begin to understand what she was grappling with when she had no clue as to what happened or what was still happening?

Confidently, the blond challenged, "Try me. Cause what I see is that you are dancing with the devil and you don't seem to have a problem with that!"

Feeling like she had been sucker punched, Callie battled remorse. Her mother was right; she really was going to Hell. Callie turned away and headed for the door without another word, shielding the raw nerves that had been exposed. The American visitor's assessment was correct. Rivas was the devil incarnate and Callie knew her association with him was well-known.

"You have one more chance; I'm leaving tomorrow at noon. I'll come by your office in the morning. I'll take your silence or your absence as an admission of guilt," Dr. Robbins resolutely stated.

Callie never turned around; she would not give her nemesis the satisfaction of seeing how much her accusation, though true, stung. "I can see you at 9:00," Callie resignedly replied.

Callie slammed the door to scrub room as she left. She exasperatedly blurted, "Today has been just one big fuck you after another!"

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	9. Chapter 9

End of chapter 8

Callie never turned around; she would not give her nemesis the satisfaction of knowing how much her accusation, though true, stung. "I can see you at 9:00," Callie resignedly replied.

Callie slammed the door to scrub room as she left. She exasperatedly blurted, "Today has been just one big fuck you after another!"

* * *

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Chapter 9

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* * *

Friday morning Arizona's mind raced as she entered the hospital. Her fatigued team trailed behind, trying to keep up. She pushed them hard all week, having them dig through documents, speak with people and verify data. Today was the last day in Bata and it all needed to be wrapped up.

Arizona was lost in thought, making sure she had dotted her i's and crossed her t's before they boarded their plane later today. She silently went through her mental checklist as she walked. Once in the elevator, she explained to the threesome, "I'll meet you up in the conference room in a bit. I have that meeting with Torres this morning. Better late than never," she sarcastically added as she stepped off at the third floor.

Her next stop was at the office of Dr. Cal Torres. "Shit, are you kidding me?" Arizona remarked as she rounded the corner and saw the darkened space. "Really, banker's hours, Dr. Torres?" she unhappily mused as she looked at her watch. It was 8:57am and the office was vacant. Arizona waited precisely three minutes and she left, making her way upstairs, to the wing where the hospital president's office was located to join Karev, Kepner and Avery. As she walked through the corridors, she was dismayed, thinking, "Is the woman bigheaded or just plain stupid?"

Shortly after, Dr. Robbins and her staff sat in the conference room for the closeout meeting with administration. On the agenda was a discussion regarding improvement of medical care since the prior analysis. The review had gone well, for the most part. There was positive growth from previous years, such as patient/doctor ratios and access to care. The major black spot was the unfortunate accusation that certain people affiliated with the hospital were enabling human trafficking. The hospital vehemently denied any ties to this. It was duly noted that Dr. Torres had yet to be available for an interview. Her absence could not help but cast a shadow of guilt on her.

Representatives thanked the _Humans First_ staff for their due diligence and efforts. Yes, the tide was turning and the assessment regarding the hospital noted fewer black marks than previous reviews. Though satisfied with the bulk of the report, Dr. Montalban reiterated his support for William Rivas, whom he regarded as an upstanding and generous member of the community. The previous day, Rivas met with Alex Karev and Arizona Robbins, providing explanations that supported his innocence. Rivas responded to every question flawlessly and provided enough documents that his involvement with inappropriate dealings was put in question. Considering the amount of money he supplied to the hospital, it was easy for hospital management to not look too closely. Emilio Montalban was unsurprised _Humans First_ could find no fault with him.

In regards to Dr. Torres, management claimed they knew nothing. All professed ignorance in regards to her dealings outside of the hospital. Dr. Torres' record was unblemished within the hospital and she was an excellent surgeon. Grudgingly, hospital administration promised to examine the matter more thoroughly.

At 11:00am, once the meeting ended, Dr. Robbins made one final attempt to connect with Dr. Cal Torres. "What the hell kind of name is Cal anyway?" she thought as she made her way to the orthopedic surgeon's office

Arizona stood in front of Torres' empty office. "Still not here?" she huffed. Her pesky administrative assistant was nowhere to be found either. Perhaps, neither even bothered to show up today. Having some time before she needed to leave and disbelieving that someone would actually ignore her dictate, Arizona decided to look further. She walked over to the hospital side, double-checking the surgical board and patient wing just in case Dr. Torres was actually managing the well-being of patients.

Failing to see any signs of the truant orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Robbins corralled a nurse. "Would you be able to find Dr. Torres for me? It's urgent," she said as she flashed her credentials.

"Let me check," the nurse offered.

A few minutes later, Maria Rosa came around the corner and approached Arizona, "Dr. Robbins, I understand you are inquiring about Dr. Torres."

Once again she had to deal with this administrative assistant, who skillfully deflected her previous attempts to meet with Dr. Torres.

Arizona irritably demanded, "Where is Dr. Torres? We were supposed to meet this morning at 9am?"

Calmly, Maria responded, "We have not seen Dr. Torres this morning. Usually she is here very early. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"Sorry for the inconvenience?" Arizona barked. She was beside herself, crossly questioning, "Do you not get it? This is not some game. This review is very real. The consequences are going to be just as real. That's the best you can do?" Arizona fumed, adding, "Please track her down. It's important."

She could not believe a doctor would put her career in jeopardy like this. She gave the orthopedic surgeon an ultimatum yesterday, never expecting she would need to follow through. She assumed the doctor would at least show up and try to finagle her way out of the situation. If this wasn't a sign of guilt, nothing was.

"Let me call her at home, perhaps she got delayed," Maria warily advised.

The two walked in cumbersome silence back to Maria's desk.

Using the desk phone, the administrative assistant dialed Dr. Torres' number, turning her back to Arizona while she made the call. Arizona hovered in front of Maria's desk, impatiently tapping her foot, making it clear she was rankled. Through hushed tones, Arizona overheard alarm in Maria's voice, "Dr. Torres?... Dr. Torres? Are you okay? ...Dr. Torres?" Maria hung up the phone.

The older woman turned around and apprehensively asked, "Dr. Robbins, would you excuse me for just a minute?"

Arizona shook her head in disgust. These stall tactics were grating on her nerves. "Fine," Arizona said, while thinking, _'She is probably hung over, spending last night drowning her sorrows in the mess she has obviously gotten herself into. Did she pompously think she wouldn't get caught?'_

The administrative assistant acknowledged Arizona's answer with a curt nod. Maria pulled her cell phone out of her pocketbook. Turning her back to the blond and stepping a few yards away, Maria dialed Alvaro. She discreetly instructed him, "Please go to Dr. Torres' apartment right away. Something's not right. She is supposed to be here."

After a minute and totally perturbed at being put off yet again, Arizona's patience reached its end. Seeing Maria slip her cell phone into her jacket pocket, Arizona advised, "I suggest you get her here ASAP. She's running out of options. I'm leaving this country in a few hours, bringing my complaint and all that will follow with me."

Unflustered, Maria replied, "I've sent her driver to pick her up. Why don't you wait in her office," Maria graciously suggested.

Arizona tried to sit calmly in Dr. Torres' office, but to no avail. She was too antsy. This Dr. Torres was getting under her skin. The woman's blatant disregard for her was maddening. Fidgety, Arizona passed the time looking around. It was a typical office with a desk, chair and filing cabinets. But it was impersonal. It was void of knickknacks or snapshots. Not one personal touch was visible. "Even I have a few photos in my office and I have zero personal life," Arizona remarked.

As Arizona simultaneously seethed and paced, she could see Maria's desk outside the door. She noticed Maria nervously trying to occupy herself as well. The restless quiet was finally quelled when the phone rang. Arizona stepped closer to the door and watched Maria answer the call.

Within earshot, Arizona distinctly heard Maria's distressed response, "What? I'll be right there. Don't leave her!"

Arizona immediately exited the office, obstructing the departure of the assistant. "What is going on? I've had enough of this game," Arizona declared.

Concern was plainly painted on the face of the older women. "I'm sorry, Dr. Robbins. This is highly unusual. Dr. Torres would never miss a rotation or a surgery, or a meeting for that matter. She cares too much. I need to leave," Maria said hurriedly.

Finding the remark odd and counter intuitive to everything she assumed about the orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Robbins clarified, "What do you mean?"

Maria apologetically stated, "I'm sorry, I need to go. It's urgent."

"Wait," Arizona objected.

"Dr. Robbins, please don't judge what you don't understand. If you cared at all about people, you would back away from Dr. Torres. I need to leave," Maria firmly replied.

"I'm coming with you," Arizona insisted. "Her career is in jeopardy and my reputation is on the line. When I get on that plane, my complaint and report come too. This is her last chance," Arizona responded.

Maria vehemently shook her head, "No, you just want to put another nail in her coffin. I'm not going to help you do that."

Arizona continued to block the path of the older woman, "I said I'm coming. Or I'll file a complaint about you as well," the blond threatened.

Maria paused, feeling blackmailed by the statement. She had no idea what was happening with her boss. Would this pushy woman make good on her threat? Did the Americans even have that kind of clout? All Maria knew was a mandate from the highest levels had been issued to cooperate. She understood the less people involved the better until she determined what was happening with Dr. Torres, but Dr. Robbins was an unshakable live wire. Maria decided the prudent course would be to follow the theory that said it was better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, meaning Maria needed to keep Dr. Robbins nearby. "Follow me," Maria coldly replied.

Arizona called her colleagues, letting them know she was leaving the building and would be back shortly. She instructed, "I want you three to go back to the hotel and finishing packing up the paperwork. I'll meet you there within the hour." She left no opportunity for additional explanation or questions. All she shared was that she was accompanying Torres' assistant on an errand.

Arizona had an uneasy feeling about Dr. Torres as she left the building with Maria Rosa. Something was certainly amiss. She was confident her gut would prove her right. This brief excursion would allow her to complete her assessment and put this report to bed. Arizona Robbins did not get where she was by leaving loose ends. Dr. Cal Torres was definitely a loose end.

* * *

§

* * *

The two women spoke not a word as they briskly walked, pushing through the stifling, humid air, down a few streets, around the corner, to an isolated side road. They entered the aging apartment building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. The door of apartment 3e was ajar. "Alvaro," Maria called out as she pushed open the door.

Entering the apartment, Arizona noticed the lights were on, yet plenty of sunlight filled the apartment. Music from a children's show was singing from the television set, but no one was watching. She saw a couple bottles of palm wine resting on the coffee table. "That's a shocker," Arizona sarcastically commented under her breath.

Worry was evident in the eyes of the driver as he entered the living room, greeting the women with a simple nod. He tilted his head, indicating to Maria to go that way. Arizona attempted to follow, but Alvaro impeded her path. He pointed to chair, directing her to sit. Intimidated by his scowl, she sat.

Arizona canvassed the apartment from her seat. It was clean, simply decorated with a couch, coffee table, a few chairs, two lamps, a throw rug and no personal mementos. She could hear some kind of humming in the background which was not in harmony with the playful music trilling from the television. It took her a moment to realize it was the antiquated air conditioner sputtering. Her observations were disturbed when Alvaro walked over and shut off the chattering TV set, leaving the room quieter, with just the white noise from the A/C buzzing.

Maria returned to the living room a few minutes later. Her face revealed nothing. "Dr. Robbins, Dr. Torres has taken ill. She will not be able to speak with you today. Alvaro will take you back to the hospital, now," Maria said, essentially dismissing her. Before Arizona even had a chance to respond, Maria spoke to Alvaro in Spanish, giving some instructions.

Not willing to be brushed aside so readily, Arizona commanded, "Let me see her," as she walked toward the bedroom.

Maria stopped the doctor, "No, Dr. Robbins, please!"

Arizona pushed forward to the doorway of the bedroom. Across the room she could see Dr. Torres sprawled across the bed, babbling incoherently.

"She's drunk," Arizona concluded. "I saw the bottles of alcohol on the coffee table in the living room."

Alvaro defended his employer, "The bottles are still full. Dr. Torres has not been drinking."

Disbelieving, Arizona walked out to the living room to confirm with her own eyes. She was surprised the man was correct. She returned to the bedroom and tried to approach the bed, but was blockaded again by Maria and Alvaro, who stood in her path, speaking to each other in muffled tones.

Alvaro whispered to Maria, "Dengue, I'm certain it is. I could hear her crying out from the hall when I arrived. I needed to use my key to enter. She doesn't know what is happening or even who I am," the driver fearfully shared. Frustrated, he grumbled, "I told her to be more careful, not work so much. She doesn't listen."

"What?" Arizona inquired at the murmurs.

"Nothing," Alvaro said as he glared at the American.

"What about Dr. Torres? If she's not drunk, then she clearly needs help," Arizona firmly stated.

"I will take care of her. Please go," Maria asserted as she looked over her shoulder to see the orthopedic surgeon writhing in pain.

Maria's confident demeanor was starting to crack as she gazed at the bed. Her poorly shrouded, stoic façade was giving way to obvious distress. "It's best you leave now," the older woman reiterated.

Arizona's medical intuition urged her to stay. "Just let me check her. As a doctor, I'm a lot more qualified to assess this than either of you. I have some time before I fly out. If there is no major issue, then I will willingly go. Please," Arizona proposed, more than curious to discover what was actually happening with the notorious doctor.

Callie Torres was now flailing in distress. She was delirious. Her hands grasped her head, crying out, "My head, it hurts. Please help me! Help…"

Out of options and scared for her ailing boss, Maria relented and stepped aside, letting Arizona approach the bed.

Arizona immediately saw the measles-like rash covering the doctor's face and arms. Placing her hand to the woman's forehead, she realized that Alvaro was correct. Dr. Torres was not inebriated, but burning up with fever.

"It's Dengue, isn't it? Maria worriedly questioned

"I've never seen Dengue," Arizona honestly answered. "I've only read the bulletins. It looks like it. She seems to have all the symptoms, the severe headache, body pains, rash, high fever. I need to check her glands."

She ran her hands over the left and right side of Dr. Torres' neck. The ill woman stopped thrashing with the tender touch of Arizona's soft fingers as they caressed her neck. Arizona brought her hands up the neck and cupped Dr. Torres' hot cheeks, staring intently down at the face below her. Suddenly, eyelids fluttered open and weakly gazed up. As Arizona held the heated face, she felt more than the enlarged lymph nodes. She felt vulnerability. The glassy pools of helplessness staring up at her confirmed the diagnosis. Arizona knew she would not, she could not turn her back on this woman just yet.

Arizona nodded in affirmation, "They're quite swollen. I'm worried about dehydration, too. Though, I'm not sure how easy it will be to get her to drink. If we can get IV fluids into her, it will help. She needs something for pain. They call it bone-breaker disease. It's supposedly extremely painful and she is obviously suffering. We should get her to the hospital. Which doctor can help us?" Arizona earnestly asked.

Alvaro and Maria shared a wary look, not sure how far the situation with Rivas extended.

Arizona pleaded further, "Look, if she's not dehydrated already, she will be soon. That fever needs to come down. It might be Dengue, but it might not. She needs medicine and fluids in her system now. An IV would be best."

"Under the circumstances, Dr. Torres wouldn't want to be admitted to the hospital," Maria advised.

"Uh, she's not exactly in much of a position to choose," Arizona flippantly responded.

With a worried look, Maria decided, "I'm going to try to bring the fever down here. Most cases of Dengue don't require hospitalization. If it doesn't come done, then I can bring her to the hospital."

Thinking about Maria's plan, Arizona wondered why she sensed fear in the older woman. She could only assume there was more to this Torres situation and whatever it was, it involved hospital personnel. The older woman was right, most cases did not require hospitalization.

Looking at Maria, Arizona said, "I'll need acetaminophen. Plus I'll need to get fluids in her. Can you see what she has? But if this gets any worse, she'll need to be hospitalized. Agreed?" The assistant stood motionless, confused by the doctor's intentions, so she did not respond.

"Look, I may not respect her, but I'm not going to hurt her. I know you don't like me. You don't need to. But she needs help. If you are not going to trust me, who do you plan on asking?" Arizona questioned. She was not shy about showing her annoyance.

Maria shook her head, "There is no one I trust to help."

"Well then, you're stuck with me. You don't have a choice and now neither do I. Since I'm here, I can't very well turn my back on her, despite the illicit deeds she is associated with," Arizona snapped.

Nodding her head, Maria conceded, "Thank you."

Arizona watched as Maria walked over to the closet. She pulled out a large plastic bin and dark duffel from inside and dragged it over to the bed. Maria opened the cover. Arizona could see inside there was a wide array of medical supplies and medicine, including prescription narcotics, needles and IV supplies. "Everything you need should be here," Maria said.

"Why does she even have all this?" Arizona crossly demanded looking at the seemingly illicit hoard of medical items.

"As I said, things are not as they seem. Please believe me. Dr. Torres needs our help now. There will be time for explanation later," Maria firmly replied.

Arizona's skeptical expression was understandable. Neither Maria nor Dr. Torres had provided an iota of answers since her arrival to the country, Maria added, "I promise."

Scrutinizing the ill woman, Arizona had no choice but to concur. This Dr. Torres definitely was hiding something, she was right about that. Arizona was now fuming. If she had her way, Dr. Cal Torres was not going to be getting away with any of this much longer. But first, guilty or not, Dr. Torres was entitled to medical treatment, which she desperately needed at the moment. Arizona found the orthopedic surgeon's behavior abhorrent. _'How could anyone be a party to human trafficking? Now she is even dabbling narcotics. This woman is really a piece of work. What's in it for her, the money?'_ Arizona pondered.

Reluctantly stepping off her moral soap box, Arizona knew she was bound by not just the Hippocratic Oath and her commitment to Maria, but to the sick doctor, who all but begged her with pleading eyes.

Arizona placed a call to April Kepner informing her she would be unable to make the flight.

"Arizona, we are not supposed to go rogue on these trips. We travel in groups, never alone. You ditch me at the hospital without explanation and now this? Are you kidding me? We need to get to the airport. Our plane leaves soon." Kepner ranted.

"Look April, I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped. It's an emergency. I'm going to need to delay my return trip a day. When you get to the airport, please reschedule my flight out for tomorrow. I won't be alone. Mrs. Rosa, Torres' assistant is here. She will make sure I'm alright," Arizona explained, looking at Maria, who nodded in concurrence.

Flustered, April replied, "But…."

The blond doctor shook her head and evasively explained, "No buts, April. I'm not leaving until I resolve the situation I am currently dealing with. I expect the three of you to be on that plane home today. Monday morning I will be in the office, trust me. Please."

April was not about to question her boss' decision-making any further, no matter how reckless. She unwillingly conceded, "Fine, but this is on you. Just one day, right? I'll leave your suitcase in the hotel storage. The Chief is not going to like this Arizona. Be careful!"

"Thank you. Relax April; it's going to be okay. I can handle the Chief," Arizona said confidently. She was stuck here an additional 24 hours. She had plenty of work reports to complete. She would make use of the time.


	10. Chapter 10

End of Chapter 9

"Thank you. Relax April; it's going to be okay. I can handle the Chief," Arizona said confidently. She was stuck here an additional 24 hours. She had plenty of work reports to complete. She would make use of the time.

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Chapter 10

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* * *

Arizona processed the situation as she was getting the vitals on Dr. Torres. From what she had read about Dengue, the woman shouldn't be this sick, unless Dr. Torres had Dengue before. '_Plus_,_ she lives_ _in_ _the city_,' she thought, '_Cities take precautions for this.'_

Looking up at Maria, Arizona requested, "I'm going to need to get some fluids into her. Can you see what she has for bottled water or perhaps juice?"

Maria returned a couple of minutes later. "There's not much in her kitchen. I'll need to run out. This is it," she advised as she handed Arizona a bottle of water. Oddly, while Maria did not care for the blonde American physician, she knew Dr. Torres would be safe with her. Based on what she had heard through the hospital grapevine, Dr. Robbins' moral compass was unquestionably straight. Her reputation was as a consummate professional. Maria was mostly confident that Dr. Robbins' personal feelings would not sway her from doing the right thing.

"Okay. I'm going to see what she has tucked away in these dubious-looking things to bring her fever down," Arizona replied, though a bit sanctimonious in her tone as she started sifting through the medicine and medical items.

"I'll be back within the hour," Maria cautiously answered, now slightly less convinced upon hearing Arizona's smug-laced words. "I've written my cell phone number down in case you need anything else."

After Alvaro and Maria left, Arizona was alone with Cal Torres. She knew managing the high fever was the priority. Walking over to the bed, medicine in hand, Arizona could easily tell the doctor was burning up. Out of habit, she placed her hand on her forehead, though she had already taken the sick woman's temperature. As the warmth permeated her hand, she feared medicine alone may not be enough to tackle the high fever. Arizona idly chattered with the insensible woman as she plied her with acetaminophen. Dr. Torres, in her dazed and confused state, was thankfully oblivious to her presence. The last thing needed was to raise Dr. Torres' temperature anymore with a heated conversation.

As she lingered about the bed, Arizona detected a muggy scent wafting about. She reached down and brushed her hand over the orthopedic surgeon's arm. It was sticky with dried perspiration. Gazing at the bedridden woman, she saw her dark hair was flat and matted, and it, too, gave off a sweaty aroma. Staring at the beads of perspiration rolling off Dr. Torres' forehead, Arizona made a plan. She scanned the room. Not seeing what she needed, she walked into the kitchen. There it was, a chair. She brought the chair to the bathroom and placed it in the shower.

Returning to the bedroom, Arizona explained, "It's probably a good thing you're not entirely conscious to see this, but I promise it will make you feel better and help bring down that temp. I mean, it's what I would do if it was me. What you won't appreciate is me removing your clothes, especially since you made it pretty clear yesterday that you don't even like me. Well, you're not exactly one of my favorite people either."

The blonde doctor removed Cal's pants and scrub top, observing they seemed to be the same clothes from yesterday. Arizona's eyes gravitated to the left arm as she took off the top. Circular black and blue bruises blemished the upper part of Dr. Torres' left arm. Arizona immediately concluded the marks to be a handprint. She had seen similar impressions before. Sadly, when she worked as a pediatric surgeon, there were a few instances when a volatile parent left comparable marks on a defenseless child.

She raised her eyebrows suspiciously, "Hmm...," but shrugged it off. Given the issues, it was of no surprise to Arizona that Dr. Torres might run with a rougher crowd.

She sat on the bed next to the ill woman and swung the long legs of Cal over the side, bringing the ill doctor's left arm over her shoulder. Arizona wrapped her right arm around the barely conscious woman's waist and hoisted her up, "Let's go, Dr. Torres."

The two walked precariously to the bathroom. Before sitting the ill woman, Arizona deftly slid the panties off Dr. Torres. When done, she sat her feverish patient on the chair, which waited in the shower. Dr. Torres remained confused and unaware of whom Arizona was, and continued her babbling, not fighting Arizona's efforts.

"I'm sorry Dr. Torres, but I need to do this," she explained to the oblivious patient, who continued to whimper in obvious discomfort. Arizona started to remove the remaining undergarments consisting of a tank top and bra without any resistance.

As she lifted the tank top, her eyes immediately noticed the chest of Dr. Torres. A vivid black and blue blotch streaked across the upper chest, rising above her pink bra. "What...," sprang from Arizona's mouth as she gawked. A serious bruise emanated from the poor woman's upper torso.

Keeping one hand on Dr. Torres, she used her other to dexterously unhook the bra, only to reveal more horror. "Oh, my God!" Arizona gasped loudly as she eased the bra away from Dr. Torres' body. The left breast was a frightening mishmash of black, blue and purple with additional bruising extending across the torso. Red inflammation encircled the mélange. There was no question in her mind that these marks were very new. "Oh, Dr. Torres," was all Arizona could manage.

The sight made Arizona nauseous. This wasn't rough sex or a casual bump. This was something else. Carefully, her eyes scanned up and down the woman's naked body. Arizona saw no other bruising other than what was present on the arm and chest area. Her instincts said Dr. Torres had been hit or maybe she fiercely banged into something. '_Why_', she was left wondering. Unfortunately, it was the least of the sick woman's problems at the moment.

Keeping one arm on the sitting patient, Arizona turned on the shower, not cold, not hot. Barely conscious, Callie was weakly roused as the water cascaded down over her weary body, rinsing off the smell and stickiness.

Arizona spotted the shampoo, and grabbed the bottle, pouring some on the brunette's head. She was certain that the fever must have started the previous day, given that the woman was still in her scrubs from yesterday, "You must have been sick when we spoke." Arizona surmised. In a moment of wishful thinking she added, "Perhaps it was the Dengue growling at me and not you."

Gently washing her patient's hair, and body with the tepid water, Arizona could not help but focus on the fresh bruises. She pondered the situation as she ran her hands through the hair of the sick woman. Massaging Cal's scalp with the vanilla scented shampoo, Arizona could not help but think about the violent marks glaring at her. She deduced the sickly woman was an unwilling participant. Her arm must have been grabbed. Whatever followed was cruelly doled out. Arizona questioned the dazed woman, "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Once she was certain Dr. Torres was free of soap and shampoo, Arizona shut the shower off and wrapped her patient in a towel. Carefully drying off the naked woman, her patient had settled down nicely with human touch. "I'm sure you must feel better. You definitely smell better," Arizona noted as she breathed in the pleasant scent from the shampoo. Arizona took a moment to actually gaze at Dr. Torres' face as she combed out her long hair. The ill woman was certainly striking. How did she miss noticing that yesterday?

Wrapping her arm around the waist of Dr. Torres and pulling her in tight, Arizona was able to maneuver the disoriented doctor back to her bed, though not without difficulty. The two mimicked inebriated compadres, drunkenly finding their way home. Arizona made sure she was particularly cautious now that she was apprised of her patient's battered body.

Dr. Torres seemed unaware of who Arizona actually was as she mumbled incoherently. In her weak state, she readily relented to Arizona's care. Arizona opened Cal's dresser drawer, quickly grabbing a short sleeve cotton t-shirt and boxer shorts, which she dressed Dr. Torres in order to keep her modesty intact. Fortunately, the sleeves on the t-shirt covered the bruises on the arm. She could not imagine that Dr. Torres, or anyone for that matter, wanting those marks to be public knowledge.

Arizona quipped at the situation she found herself in, "I can't believe I'm actually putting clothes on a beautiful woman as I get her into bed instead of the contrary."

Maria returned as promised within the hour. Relief spread across the assistant's face as she entered the bedroom and found Dr. Robbins hovered over the unconscious doctor, listening to the ill woman's respiratory functions with a stethoscope. Maria was ambivalent at leaving Dr. Torres in the hands of the person who was on the verge of destroying her boss' career. But as she thought about Rivas and his hold on the hospital's administration, she knew that Dr. Robbins was probably the lesser of the two evils.

They two managed to get a few more sips of water into Dr. Torres. Arizona then expertly set up the IV, while Maria watched closely. Arizona included some additional medicine to keep the ill woman at rest. Between the Dengue and those fresh bruises, there was no question that Dr. Torres was in pain. Her tired body needed to heal, and ensuring that Dr. Torres remained at sleep would only help.

"She seems a bit cooler; her temperature is under 103 degrees. Her body is exhausted," Arizona observed.

Maria shared, "Doctor Torres has been very busy. She has not rested as well as she should have."

A skeptical "Hmm," was all Arizona responded with, not earning Arizona any points with Maria.

As Cal Torres slept, Arizona pulled papers out of her briefcase and worked at the kitchen table. Maria maintained a vigil at her boss' bedside.

After some time, Arizona checked on the sick doctor. Arizona noted, "The fever's dropped another degree, to just below 102 degrees. That's good, but not great. What is surprising to me is not just that she has Dengue, but that she is this sick. People in the city are not generally exposed to this type of mosquito. Isn't Dengue more prevalent outside the city?"

Marie answered, "That's correct."

Arizona inquired further, "How would Dr. Torres be exposed to that?"

Maria hesitated, but before she could say more there was loud knocking at the apartment door. Maria swiftly left the room to answer it. Arizona took advantage of the break in conversation to replace the nearly empty IV bag with another when she heard agitated voices coming from the other room.

Arizona had no idea what was being said; the exchange was in Spanish. She overheard, "Doctora Torres" and "Asistencia. Ayuda."

Curious, Arizona wandered to the entry way, "What's going on?"

Maria shook her head, "Nothing, he was just looking for Dr. Torres."

The panicked-stricken face on the young man told Arizona that it was not _'nothing'_.

"Why?" Arizona sternly inquired. "Even I can figure out the man is begging for help. How can that be nothing?" Arizona sharply questioned.

Maria sighed, "The man's wife is in labor. The baby is not coming. He wanted Dr. Torres to help," Maria explained.

"Why doesn't he take his wife to the hospital?" Arizona asked.

"The family are refugees, they do not legally reside here. They have no medical care, nor are they officially entitled to any. These folks are unfamiliar with the system and are wary of it," Maria explained.

Stating the obvious, Arizona remarked, "Dr. Torres is clearly in no condition to help. They need to ask someone else."

Staring at the naïve blonde doctor, Maria replied, "At this point, there is no time to find someone else, Dr. Robbins."

"So the baby and mother are left to possibly die?" Arizona questioned incredulously.

Maria did not even bother to respond, but stared sadly at the doctor.

Pondering the options for a minute and attempting to stave off the encroaching guilt, Arizona said, "I'd go but I don't have the supplies I need. Even if I went, who's to say I could even help."

"Perhaps you can't help," Maria concurred. "The circumstances are dire; the man understands that. This is Africa, Dr. Robbins, not America. Mothers and infants die more often than they should in childbirth here. You may not be able to do a thing, he is only asking for someone to try. In terms of supplies, there are some here," she reminded the American.

Arizona sucked in a deep breath, never expecting to be taken up on her offer. This was far more complicated than she ever anticipated. How did she even get roped into this? She opened her big mouth, that's how.

She stared intently at Maria and then at the impassioned face of the desperate man. Without any other conscionable options, she nodded. "I just changed the IV, it should be good for a couple of hours. Once it's done, just clamp the tubing. I'll replace it when I return," Arizona said in a defeated voice, fearing in all likelihood her efforts would be futile.

Maria held up one finger, "Hold on." She returned with the duffle that had been pulled out earlier from the closet. "You'll need this," Maria said as she handed the bag to Arizona. "Alvaro is downstairs. He will drive you."

Arizona got in the car with Alvaro. Alvaro was not shy about showing his disdain for her. The tension in the car reeked as they drove to the outskirts of the town, to a poor, rundown area. He stopped in front of a dilapidated building. An older woman approached the car, and stared at Arizona, "This is not Dr. Torres. Where is Dr. Torres?" she demanded of Alvaro in Spanish. Alvaro simply shrugged.

Arizona exited the car, with the oversized medical duffle slung over her shoulder. Sensing the woman's resistance to her presence, she offered, "I'm a doctor."

The woman glared, refusing Arizona to passage to the building.

Arizona turned to Alvaro, "Look, I know you don't like me and you don't want me here, I get that. But if I am to help that mother and her unborn child, you need to let them know it's okay to trust me. If you don't, then whatever happens is your fault, at least I tried," she said bitingly.

Alvaro stared down at Arizona and then looked at the elderly woman. He explained in Spanish that this was a friend of Dr. Torres, and she was indeed a doctor. The elderly woman slowly dropped her guard and moved to the side.

An unpleasant odor diverted Arizona's attention as she stepped forward. Pausing, she surveyed the area and spied a pile of accumulated trash swarming with bugs. It dawned on Arizona as she swatted her arm trying to ward off some of the flying nuisances that there was no apparent system for refuse disposal in this part of town. Looking down, she saw black specks and a tiny droplet of blood resting on her forearm. She brushed off the remnants of the mangled insect, not quite sure of what it resembled in its former life. "One down, ninety-nine to go," she said in mocked triumph. Arizona continued her odyssey, flinching as she stepped over a dead rat as she crossed the building's threshold. Tuning out the distractions, Arizona trekked forward, following the sound of a screaming woman.

Arizona entered a stifling room, crowded with worried, female relatives. A space cleared as she entered, creating a pathway for her. She found the distressed woman lying on a mattress placed on the floor. The woman was drenched in sweat, begging in Spanish, "Help me, please help me. My baby." Arizona understood enough to know what she was pleading for.

Arizona opened the bag, locating gloves and a gown, which she donned. Upon examination, she found the baby was stuck, one of the shoulders was lodged behind the pelvic bone, and the baby could not pass through the birth canal. Thinking back to her obstetrics rotation, she ran through the delivery process in her head for this scenario.

Arizona directed someone to sit behind the distressed woman. She pushed the legs of the screaming woman back against the woman's chest, motioning for one of the onlookers to hold them in place. Inserting her hand into the mother, Arizona worked patiently and methodically, gently rotating the infant's shoulder. Time passed at a snail's space until Arizona sensed that the baby was coming.

Finally, the baby slid out. The infant girl was soundless and in poor color. "Shit, Apgar's a 1," Arizona frustratingly whispered. Grabbing the item to suction, she cleared the mucus from the baby's mouth and then massaged her heart. A second or so later, weak cries were heard, which grew increasingly stronger. A wave of relief washed over her.

Sitting back on her heels, she handed the newborn girl to the relieved mother. Around her, the women shared hugs and clapped. Arizona beamed as she cut the umbilical cord. She spent the next hour or so cleaning up the new mother and infant. Having done all she could, she was finally ready to take her leave.

It had been a few years since she had actually practiced medicine and she never worked in the field like this, only in a hospital with all of its conveniences. Arizona was filled with such wonder. She saved a life tonight, actually two lives. It was nothing short of miraculous. It was why she had wanted to be a doctor in the first place. She liked her job, her work was important and she was making a difference, but not like this. This feeling left her on a euphoric high.

Looking around at the poverty and squalor, these people had nothing, but each other. Even in these challenging circumstances, the support of community and sense of love was clear. She forgot how comforting it could be when immersed in family. Arizona remarked quietly, "So, this is how you spend your free time, Dr. Torres."

Arizona walked down the stairs and sought out Alvaro. He was leaning against his car. She reached into her purse and grabbed a handful of bills, a king's ransom in this part of town. She asked Alvaro, "Would you give this to them? Please. Tell them to make sure the mother eats, so the baby can."

He looked at her surprised, and took the money, making his way into the building. When he returned, Arizona was already waiting in the backseat of the car. He looked at her in the rearview mirror, obviously seeking some direction. "I guess we should go back to Dr. Torres' apartment," she directed. He nodded and drove.

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A/N: Remember, I have no medical background, just Google. Also, though Callie's & Arizona's verbal interactions have been brief, they will eventually communicate. For those who continue to read, thank you for sticking with this story. I truly am appreciative.


	11. Chapter 11

Let It Be- End of Chapter 10

He looked at her surprised, and took the money, making his way into the building. When he returned, Arizona was already waiting in the backseat of the car. He looked at her in the rearview mirror, obviously seeking some direction. "I guess we should go back to Dr. Torres' apartment," she directed. He nodded and drove.

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Chapter 11

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The return trip was silent, but not tension-filled like the ride over. Arizona gazed at the silhouetted scenery highlighted by the moonlight. Crude images lined the horizon before her. The vast sky served as a backdrop; it was dazzling. Away from the bright lights and city smog, the sky sparkled with an abundance of stars, more than Arizona had ever seen in one place. She was always one to plow forward, never looking back. It occurred to her, as she contemplated the wonder above, that she rarely took time to look up and she was awestruck by its brilliance. This area was unlike the urban mecca she was en route to and definitely dissimilar to her own metropolis of Los Angeles. Thinking about the village of people she just visited, she understood that there was always a section tucked away, out of the limelight. The government may boast of some of its neighborhoods, the one she just left was clearly not on the receiving end of many accolades nor city-services. Yet, even in its shambled state, she could see the beauty in it.

The car ride proved unexpectedly relaxing. The cooler night air and bumpy roads almost rocked Arizona to sleep. In no time, Alvaro pulled the car in front of Dr. Torres' apartment building. Arizona took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, summoning what little energy she had left in reserve to exit the car. She pushed opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, slinging the weighty duffle over her shoulder. Trudging up the three flights of stairs, she was tired, emotionally drained and definitely confused. Her heart was awash with a mêlée of emotions, but none more powerful than thankfulness, knowing tonight she helped a new heart beat in the world. She needed to speak more with Mrs. Rosa, but she was much too tired to even think of having that dialogue tonight. She came to this country seeking answers, but now all she had was questions and worries for that matter.

Knocking lightly on the door of apartment 3e, uncertain of what she was returning to, she was greeted by Maria, whose welcoming expression hinted that she already knew how Arizona's evening went.

"It was a girl. For the moment, they are both fine," Arizona tiredly shared as she rid herself of the cumbersome duffle. "How is Dr. Torres?" she asked.

A small smile was offered. Maria said, "No worse, perhaps better. I will leave that for you to determine. I have left you a plate of food. You must be hungry."

It occurred to Arizona that she had not eaten since breakfast, "Wow, I am. Thank you."

Arizona looked at her watch. It was now close to 9:00pm. The need to eat and sleep suddenly consumed her. "I'll stay here, on the couch, with Dr. Torres tonight. It's late, and I don't even know if there is a room for me at the hotel. You can go home, if you would like, to your family," Arizona suggested.

"I can stay. Dr. Torres is like family to me," Maria possessively insisted.

Arizona couldn't help but admire the protectiveness of the administrative assistant. Did she have someone who cared so much for her? Of course, her mother did. Other than her, who was there? She thought Alex might have her back. Though, considering she snapped at him earlier in the week, when she made it clear her personal life was off-limits, she was not so sure anymore.

Arizona stood speechless for a second, trying to decide how to respond. She, too, felt rather committed to her patient. "I should be here anyway," Arizona countered eagerly. Maria stared at her skeptically.

Realizing she came off a bit zealous, Arizona added diplomatically, "Really, in case she takes a turn for the worse. Look, I'm leaving tomorrow. She won't be well by then. She will still need you." Pausing a moment, Arizona sincerely offered, "It's okay, I can do this tonight." Unfazed at staying in the foreign apartment and too exhausted to leave, she grinned, confessing, "Honestly, I don't think I have the energy to walk down those three flights of stairs again."

Maria decided at this point Arizona proved her intentions were honorable and as a doctor, it made sense for her to stay. Not to mention, there was only one couch. "As you wish, Dr. Robbins," Maria conceded. "Please call if there is a problem, I can return in no time. I will be back in the morning."

"My flight is not until later in the day, so no rush," Arizona replied, fatigue evident in her words.

After Maria left the apartment, Arizona pondered her situation. "For a straightforward trip, this one has really gotten messed up," she said to no one in particular as she thought about her past week.

She needed a shower, desperately. The hot, humid air left her cloaked in clammy discomfort. She remembered her suitcase was still at the hotel. "Sorry, Dr. Torres, I'm going to need some clothes - adding insult to injury, I'm afraid," she commented casually aloud to the sleeping physician. It wasn't like she planned on pillaging and plundering, rather it was to be borrowing and returning, like a library book.

"I hope you don't mind. Why would you mind? I'm making your life miserable, threatening to get your license revoked and filing complaints," Arizona continued her spiel.

Arizona rummaged through the drawers of the orthopedic surgeon, finding a t-shirt, presumably of her alma mater and some shorts to throw on after her shower. As she grabbed the boxer shorts from the drawer, she noticed something blue peeking out from under some clothing. It was the edge of a passport. She pulled the item out. "She's American?" Arizona said in surprise as she looked at the familiar eagle emblem on the navy blue cover. "I thought she was Spanish or from some other European country. How did I not know this?...Well, we haven't exactly spoken."

Holding the passport in her hand, she contemplated her next move. "Arizona, don't even think about it. Mind your own business. You're crossing a line here," the angel in her scolded.

Her devilish persona tossed her moral consciousness aside and countered, "Crossed a line? Hell, that line was crossed hours ago when you didn't get on the plane. Now, you're preparing to shower and sleep in the apartment of a person under your scrutiny. Open the damn passport. It would be solely for business purposes. Really, this is your business. You didn't know she was American. Maybe Cal Torres isn't even her name. How can you do your job without the proper facts, right? Eventually, you would get that info anyhow."

She felt like a character in a cartoon, where her own personal she-devil magically materialized on her left and her angelic self fluttered to her right. Standing in the middle of her moral quandary, contemplating each side, Arizona deliberated her choice not even for a split second. Like in most of these cartoon scenarios, the devil easily won out, effectively squelching the angel.

Arizona opened up the passport and snooped. "Calliope Iphegenia Torres...Cal is for Calliope. It's a much prettier name than Cal, that's for sure," she confirmed. "Your name is in fact Torres. At least you are honest about that. And you're from Washington state of all places. I wonder what brought you here, Dr. Torres? Money, perhaps?" she quizzed.

She continued to peruse the passport, checking out the various stamps signifying Cal's numerous travels. "Wow, you certainly get around," Arizona commented. Grabbing her cellphone, Arizona decided to take a picture of the page with the name and photo, then another of the page with the in case of emergency name and number. Who knew where this investigation would lead; she justified that she might need more info. "Sorry Calliope, don't hate me, at least any more than you already do," Arizona said sympathetically as she snapped the photos.

She returned the passport to its spot for safekeeping and headed for the bathroom. She could not wait to rinse off the convoluted day in a refreshing shower. Thinking about the poverty she just witnessed, it left her frustrated as to how unfair the disparity was. The world was full of _haves_ and _have-nots_; she knew that. It was hard when the _have-nots_ had a face, and touched your heart. Arizona knew these misgivings would not wash away so easily. She felt her heart ping just a bit more.

Having showered and changed, Arizona was thankful to have the plate of food in front of her. Whatever type of rice dish this was, it was excellent. The best meal she had eaten since arriving in this country. Once she finished, she located sheets and one of the unused pillows from the doctor's closet, creating a makeshift bed on the couch.

Before turning in, Arizona checked on Dr. Torres, though asleep, she seemed restless. '_At least the fever had not increased. The pain medicine must be wearing off,'_ Arizona thought as Dr. Torres tossed and turned. She located another dose and administered it to the sick woman.

Deciding it was prudent to stay close by until she was certain the medicine had taken effect, Arizona approached her ill patient and sat cross-legged on the mattress, beside the doctor. This woman lying next to her was supposed to be the bad guy and so far the documents did not refute her guilt. But what she experienced tonight, actually all day, confused her. Her emotions were running amuck. She hoped it was fatigue. Maybe she was getting sick.

Arizona focused on her patient's looks. She commented aloud, _"_I really should hate you - even in this sickly state, you're gorgeous. Still not sure how I missed that yesterday." Placing her hands on her hips, Arizona chided the comatose doctor, "Hey, don't be quoting me on that either. All I need is for that little tidbit to get out, that I can't see what's plainly in front of me."

While passing time, Arizona continued speaking with the sleeping woman as naturally as if the two were having a drink together. "So Calliope, may I call you that? I'm not at all fond of the name 'Cal'. Why would you even use 'Cal'?... Not much of a conversationalist tonight, huh? I understand. Me neither, well not in bed that is. Outside of the bedroom, I'm, well, I'm told I talk too much at times. Maybe it's more like I'm a terrible listener. Sometimes, I've been told worse."

Arizona pondered her last statement a moment, before scrunching her face, "Actually, the last woman I was with told me I was a _'stuck-up bitch'_. I beg to differ. I'm just focused and driven, perhaps a tad too business-like at times. But it wasn't like she was really that nice either. Anyhow, I don't think I need to worry about you calling me a bitch tonight," Arizona playfully rambled. "Tomorrow maybe."

Mesmerized, she stared awhile longer. "And you are full of surprises. An American from Washington, huh? I never saw that outreach stuff coming either. On paper, well at least on my papers, you were a heartless, money-grubbing, male physician. I was wrong about your gender. Clueless you were American. What else am I wrong about? People love you. Is your heart as beautiful as you?"

Arizona pursed her lips and wondered further, "I've never been wrong before. Is it possible I might be wrong about you? I was sure Rivas was involved with the trafficking, but he keeps coming up clean. Rivas is an arrogant ass, but that doesn't make him guilty, it just makes him an ass. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry," she lamented.

Noticing that the pain medicine had kicked in and her patient was peacefully sleeping again, Arizona closed out her monologue, "Well, I'll let you get some sleep. You look exhausted. And those bruises... Well, they worry me. What or who are you involved with Calliope Torres?"

Arizona waited a moment, as if Callie was going to answer her and divulge her deep, dark secret. Of course, the only response was silence.

She added, "If you need me, I'll just be in the next room. But, obviously, you don't know I'm even here. That's a good thing, you probably hate me. Don't worry, I'm used to it. Most people I investigate don't care for me."

After tonight she would add mysterious to her description of Dr. Calliope Torres. Dragging with weariness, Arizona decided she needed to take her leave before she dozed off on the spot. She stood up and listened her patient's heart and lungs once more before seeking refuge in the living room.

Standing by the doorway, as she shut off the lights, Arizona whispered, "Goodnight Calliope."

Satisfied that her patient was settled, Arizona made her way to the couch. She had a fleeting thought about plugging away on her reports, but she was too comfortable and too tired to even think about tackling them. It took mere minutes for sleep to take charge.

Hours later, Arizona was jolted awake from her deep slumber by the sound of screaming sobs. Struggling to get her bearings, she finally remembered where she was. She darted to the bedroom to find an inconsolable Dr. Torres flailing about the bed. The ill woman was crying and confused. The fever spiked and made her delirious once again. She kept apologizing, to everyone, "Daddy, Erica, George, Mark, Bailey, Emeline._"_

"What's this about?" the blond asked to no one in particular as she tried to make sense of Dr. Torres' woebegone ranting.

Arizona approached the bed to settle the heartbroken woman and she saw the IV was disconnected due to the thrashing. Wrapping her arms around the devastated doctor, she pulled her into a tight embrace in trying to calm the poor woman. As in the shower, human touch had a calming effect and Dr. Torres settled down, allowing Arizona to release her hold in order to add more medicine to the IV and reinsert it. After securing the IV once again, Arizona saw Dr. Torres' body was still trembling and tears streamed down her cheeks. Arizona again pulled her into a comforting hug. After a few minutes, Arizona could feel the brunette start to relax and her breathing became more regular. In no time, the Latina was sleeping again, albeit securely in her arms.

After she was sure her patient was sound asleep, Arizona attempted to disentangle her body from the clutches of the mysterious orthopedic surgeon, but Dr. Torres had latched firmly on to her. Smirking, Arizona noted, "If you only knew, Dr. Torres. You spent all week avoiding me and now you won't let me leave your side."

Arizona had to admit she was comfortable holding the woman; there was something special about her. She would know, she had taken more than her share of women to bed. Maybe it was just the sick woman's vulnerability, but she didn't think it was solely that. There was definitely something more about Calliope Torres. "I'm crossing my own boundaries, getting personally involved," Arizona acknowledged in frustration. "Shocking, I know," she said in response to her own admission.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Arizona. There was a queue of women whom Arizona had turned away because she was unwilling to get intimately involved with anyone or anything except her job. Yet tonight, Arizona was in bed with a stunning woman who wanted nothing to do with her. Truth was stranger than fiction she thought as she lost her battle to stay awake and drifted off to a sound sleep, holding one Calliope Torres protectively in her arms.

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Arizona's nose twitched, rousing her from a peaceful sleep. She lazily brushed aside the wisps of hair tickling her face as she inhaled the sweet vanilla aroma enveloping her.

_'Vanilla?'_

Immediately, she lifted her head from the pillow and tried to open her eyes wide, but the bright light streaming into the bedroom forced her to squint as she gazed down the bed. Arizona was pinned not under some one night fling, but the person entrusted to her care! In the course of the night, Dr. Torres managed to flip over so she resembled a swimmer who just landed a belly flop, with her locks of dark hair splayed over Arizona's upper body, her face buried between Arizona's breasts, her arms and legs spread eagle over the blonde. At some point during her care-giving, Arizona fell asleep, which was never her intention and now she was in a rather compromising position. Remembering the IV, Arizona looked over at Cal's arm and noticed it remained intact, aided by an excessive amount of tape she used to secure it the second time around.

Plopping her head back down on to the pillow, Arizona replayed in her mind the events leading up to this very moment, recalling what transpired in the wee hours that resulted in Calliope Torres spending the night wrapped in her arms. Essentially, in the midst of the sick woman's hysterics and flailing, Arizona had no choice but to resort to what she called tactile medicine, better known as human touch. It proved to be highly effective. Arizona falling asleep in the ill woman's bed was merely an unanticipated side-effect.

As Dr. Torres' soft skin pressed against hers, she knew the fever had lessened and it made her smile knowing the orthopedic surgeon was on the mend. She thought about getting up, but she was surprisingly comfortable as the sun, high in the sky, shined on her. Arizona assumed it was mid to late morning, but was unsure of the exact time. She was amazed she had slept so late. Her tranquility was short-lived, when suddenly she heard a clatter in the outer room. Someone else was in the apartment. Quickly, she extracted her cozy, entwined body from the soundly sleeping brunette draped over her and fled from the bedroom.

Arizona nervously peered into the kitchen, where she saw Maria cooking at the stove. "Mrs. Rosa?" Arizona questioned as she entered the kitchen.

Maria turned around and greeted her, "Good morning Dr. Robbins. I let myself in, Alvaro has a key. I'm sorry, I made a ruckus with my cooking, didn't I?" the older woman inquired.

"Umm, no. Actually, I'm usually an early riser, but apparently not today," Arizona replied.

"I hope you are hungry, Dr. Robbins. Coffee or perhaps tea?" Maria asked.

"Coffee, please," Arizona sheepishly answered.

"Coffee seems to be the beverage of choice for you Americans," Maria decided.

As she accepted the mug from Mrs. Rosa, Arizona was embarrassed by the awkward sleeping arrangement she could only assume Maria observed. The older woman obviously had been here for some time and it was a logical presumption Mrs. Rosa would have checked on the wellbeing of her ill boss when she first arrived._ "Oh, boy,"_ Arizona thought as she watched the older woman scurry about.

Arizona sat at the table, in front of the impressive spread Maria prepared for her. "You didn't need to do this for me. I mean I appreciate it, but...it's really thoughtful," Arizona said conciliatorily as she thought back to her frustration and perhaps less than cheery demeanor she might have exhibited toward the older woman earlier in the week.

"It's nothing. You remind me of Dr. Torres. If I don't stay on her, she would forget to eat. When she does eat, often it's nothing substantial. Plus, I know Dr. Torres, she doesn't keep much stocked in her cupboards," Maria said casually. "She's not home all that often."

Arching her eyebrows, Arizona questioned in surprise, "I remind you of Dr. Torres?" Other than the fact they shared the same title and post-nominal of Dr. and M.D., Arizona considered the two polar opposites.

"Well, you both seem to be focused, passionate women, perhaps on different paths, but ultimately you share the same goal. You care about people," Mrs. Rosa sincerely explained.

Arizona mulled what Mrs. Rosa said and decided to change the topic. Talking about Dr. Torres' passionate side was distracting and she woke up distracted enough.

"So, Dr. Torres is better. Her temp is down, but she had a rough night," Arizona explained, hoping to quell any undesirable judgments regarding the shared bed. "She had some unsettling nightmares. It turned out she responded best to a more tactile modality," Arizona said in medical speak. Maria looked at her quizzically.

Arizona shrugged her shoulders, responding, "She needed a hug."

Arizona was probably more self-conscious than she needed to be, but her role here was that of a physician. Maria most likely observed her this morning in bed with another woman, who happened to be her patient. There was no choice last night but to contain the hysterical doctor. Dr. Torres needed to be subdued. Arizona knew her intentions were honorable and clinical. The problem was, in hindsight, nothing about it felt clinical. What it felt was right and that feeling was not just foreign to Arizona, but it also unnerved her.

Maria sat down at the table, across from Arizona with a cup of tea in her hand. Maria was either unaware or unfazed by the shared bed and she answered in a blasé manner, "Thank you for taking care of her last night." Maria shared, "I worry about Dr. Torres. She seems to have no one and keeps her distance from people in general. I often wonder what brought her here."

"You said things were not as they seem and you would explain later. I'm leaving shortly, this needs to be later," Arizona insisted.

"That's fair. There is not much to say. What I can tell you is that Dr. Torres spends all of her free time in the poor communities. They truly love her there, especially the children. I've heard she even makes time to play with them. She's like a toy store; she always seems to have extra balls, jump ropes and even candy on hand. Much of her spare time has been spent working at the church's medical clinic. But, she travels to where there is need. There is just more need than there is of Dr. Torres. She is very generous with her time and money," Maria sincerely stated.

"What about the drugs and medical supplies here, in her apartment and at the clinic, where do they come from? Is it possible she is taking them from the hospital, perhaps like Robin Hood?" Arizona questioned.

Maria emphatically responded, "She's definitely not stealing from the hospital, I'm positive of that. I would know if things were missing. The hospital keeps close tabs on inventory, particularly pharmaceutical items. I don't know the specifics about all the supplies she gets for the clinic or for her outreach. I don't ask. She usually insists on handling her own ordering for those items. On the rare times I do order, she gives me her credit card. Things arrive for her, that's all I know. Alvaro brings them to the clinic or her apartment. It is not unusual for someone to knock on her door and ask for help. It is why she keeps supplies here. I've always assumed she was paying for items out of her own pocket."

"Are you telling me she is like Mother Teresa?" Arizona asked incredulously.

Maria thought for moment, simply answering, "Well, yes."

Unsatisfied, Arizona probed further, "Even if she is using her own funds, based on our calculations, it appears the items she bought exceed her salary. Some of the items she gave to the clinic are expensive. Can you explain that?"

"I can't. I don't believe she would inappropriately take from anyone. She really is a good person, Dr. Robbins. The best I have seen in a long time," Maria honestly responded. "It's not like she is the only donor either."

"But she's the only consistent donor. There are no major, frequent donations from anyone else." Arizona decided to probe further, divulging some confidential information. "William Rivas is supposedly a key player in the trafficking issue and the clinic appears to be connected this. Yet, he hasn't given a dime to the clinic, just a bundle to the hospital. His only connection to the clinic is Dr. Torres. What's his deal? Are they…involved?" Arizona cringed as she asked. The question left a bitter taste in her mouth. She feared Maria's response would be even more nauseating.

Stunned, Maria caustically replied, "What do you mean involved? As in romantically? Absolutely not! He's a lecherous man. He keeps chasing her. I think Dr. Torres avoids him as best she can, but she is professional and tolerates him. He has been financially supportive of Dr. Torres through major donations to the hospital designated for her department. He arranged it so she is now the team doctor for his professional soccer team. She has even been asked to go to his house to handle medical problems. But she does that for anyone who asks. You saw that last night."

Weirdly relieved by Maria's response, Arizona continued her questioning, "What do you know about the allegation that children connected to the clinic are being trafficked?"

"It's a longstanding problem in this country. Honestly, Dr. Torres is probably oblivious to its occurrence. She's only been here a short time and she is so busy. I don't believe Dr. Torres would ever knowingly be involved with that. She loves those children as if they were her own. She would never put them in harm's way. Look, Rivas is not just bad, he is unscrupulous. I stay away from him because he is cruel. Too many questions can be dangerous. Dr. Torres is not like Rivas, you need to understand that," the assistant implored.

Unsure, Arizona queried, "You promise me that, but can you prove it to me? Convince me with facts, not feelings."

Maria shook her head, "I can't do that. Dr. Torres is an extremely private person. She shares very little of her life. All I know is the woman never stops giving. Do you know how many people she's helped, lives she has saved? I wish I had more to give you, but I don't. I just have my intuition; I sense she is good."

Thinking about the sickness and the nasty bruises she couldn't help but notice on the body of Calliope Torres, Arizona asked, "After last night, I can understand how she contracted the Dengue. The mosquitos are rampant outside of the city. But there is something I'm not clear on. Is she involved with anyone else, perhaps romantically?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Why do you ask?" Maria guardedly questioned.

"I noticed some marks, bruises. They're new. Perhaps they are connected to the Dengue, but I don't think so," Arizona replied.

Realizing what Arizona was wondering, Maria quickly offered, "Dr. Torres is not seeing anyone to my knowledge. When would she even have time? She's always working or volunteering. Though, I believe she occasionally socializes with the medical team from the traveling clinic. I can ask Alvaro, he drives her wherever she goes."

"Please do," Arizona responded.

"Let me call him," Maria replied.

Arizona ate breakfast while Maria Rosa left the room to make the phone call. She returned a few minutes later, "Alvaro said the traveling clinic was in town a week ago. Dr. Torres does usually socialize with them when they are here, but she didn't last week. There was one woman she was particularly close with. She might have been able to tell us something, but he heard the nurse returned to France a few weeks back."

Arizona took in the information. "The bruises are fresh, definitely less than a week old." She worriedly asked, "You're sure? There is no one else?"

Maria nodded her head, suddenly realizing the meeting Dr. Torres had with William Rivas may not have been all verbal. The noises she heard, the rattling door, it all made sense. "I will tell you, the children are not the only victims here. Rivas is a cruel man. Something happened between them Thursday. It was in her office. I heard some scuffling, but it wasn't enough to interrupt. I don't know for sure, but Dr. Torres became physically ill after he left her. I was certain something happened between them, but yesterday when she got sick, I decided I must be wrong, that is was the Dengue. You're implying my original hunch was correct."

Taken back by the comment, no words needed to be spoken. Arizona nodded, letting Maria know she understood what Maria meant - Rivas physically hurt Dr. Torres. Noticing the time, Arizona said, "Thank you for the meal, it was wonderful. I really should be leaving."

"I will have Alvaro meet you downstairs," Maria offered.

Arizona went into the bathroom, and changed from the borrowed shirt and boxer shorts to her outfit from yesterday. She looked at the t-shirt. "I wonder if that is where she went to school," Arizona pondered, tossing the t-shirt to the ground.

As she put her own shirt on, her face contorted, "Eew," she groaned. Yesterday's efforts resulted in not just a baby, but extremely smelly armpits. Her top's odor was intolerable, even if it was L'eau d'Arizona. Picking up the discarded t-shirt and pulling it back over her head, she said, "Sorry Calliope. Add thief to my list of shortcomings."

After changing, dutifully she checked her patient once more, removing the IV. The fever was under 100 degrees and Dr. Torres was peacefully sleeping. Arizona knew the woman was recovering. "Dr. Torres, I have no idea what to make of you. You are mixed up with a bad crowd. I'm afraid you are a bad influence on me. I can't tell you how many rules I've broken because of you, work and personal, and I'm not a rule-breaker. But, it's undeniable, you've also made me feel some amazing things I haven't felt in years. I delivered a baby this weekend. Pretty awesome. I know you can't hear me, but I'm going to say it anyway, thank you. Take care now."

Arizona walked from the bedroom and found Maria waiting for her in the living room. She advised Maria, "Continue with the acetaminophen in two hours, but hold off on these painkillers unless it's really necessary. They shouldn't be needed now. She'll be waking soon and I'm sure she'll manage this just fine on her own. If there is any negative change, she will need to go to the hospital stat, because that would mean the infection has damaged her system. All set?"

"Thank you, Dr. Robbins. You surprised me," Maria appreciatively said.

"I guess this trip has been full of surprises for both of us. Thank you for your help and the meals. You're quite the cook. It was nice to meet you," Arizona smiled.

Dr. Torres would be awake soon. As Arizona considered the choices she made over the last twenty-four hours, while Dr. Torres was not conscious. She feared what choices she would make if the ill woman was fully conscious. Arizona felt as though she swimming into uncharted waters, a riptide to be specific. If she just stayed calm and perfunctorily did her job, it would prove to be the path of least resistance. In a day's time, she would land safe and sound on American shores, unscathed. Staying in the country longer would yield challenges, conflicts and maybe even dangers.

Arizona found it daunting to be so intimately familiar with a person and no one could deny she was now intimately familiar with Calliope Torres. Her arm's length relationship went out the window once she wrapped her arm around the woman the day before. Arizona tried to shake the confusion from her brain. In the last twenty-four hours, she undressed Calliope Torres and then dressed her. She had seen her naked body, washing it from head to toe. She hugged her, held her and consoled her. She knew where she worked, where she lived, where she hailed from, where she traveled to and how she spent most of her time. She knew how she smelled, how it felt to have her body mold against her and even how it felt to sleep with her. To top it off, she was even scared for the wellbeing of the orthopedic surgeon; the bruises were worrisome. Truly, the only thing missing in their relationship was sex and perhaps some back and forth conversation. At this point, she figured her dreams would soon fill in those gaps.

She needed to leave, while the miniscule objectivity left in her still existed and it frightened her that she had let her objectivity slip away so easily, blurring her professional line. Arizona was conflicted. She was no longer willing to concede so readily that Doctor Torres was illicit. She was actually rooting for the orthopedic surgeon to be innocent, yet the facts painted a dreary picture of culpability. The story they told said Dr. Torres was not in the clear. Arizona knew her job needed to come first and apparently in Calliope Torres' presence that was impossible.

Once Calliope Torres figured out someone change her and saw the cruel marks on her body, it would be best if she assumed it was Maria. Based on the conversation, Mrs. Rosa looked out for Dr. Torres, more of a motherly figure. As much as she would have liked to spend more time with the mysterious doctor, Arizona sensed it would be better that she be gone before Dr. Torres woke. It was quite clear from their brief verbal sparring on Thursday that Arizona was persona non grata. She had no idea if Calliope Torres ventured to the dark-side and was in cahoots with the dangerous William Rivas. The bruising said he did not play by the rules. Now that Arizona discovered her suspect was American, she justified she had enough information to do some digging from the safety of her own country. The truth was she was running away, before her heart held her brain hostage. She needed to leave town while the integrity of her assignment was intact and her subjectivity wasn't clouding her judgment.

After collecting her luggage from the hotel, Alvaro dropped Arizona at the airport for her long flight back. "Good bye, Madam," he said as he carried her bag to the check-in desk. His meager well-wishes were not lost on Arizona. While Alvaro was not enamored with her, she had at least become tolerable. She would settle for that. It was clear that in Mrs. Rosa's eyes, and Alvaro's too, she would never live up to the stature of Dr. Torres.

The lengthy trip home allowed her plenty of undisturbed time to process what transpired the last couple days and rein in her emotions. Arizona was relieved to be traveling alone. She agreed with Maria Rosa, Dr. Torres was an unlikely criminal. Yet, she understood looks could be deceiving. Mrs. Rosa failed to provide a shred of hard data to dispel the mounting evidence.

Was Dr. Torres using her position as a doctor to gain the trust of the poor and destitute and then encouraged them to sell their children? It was hard to fathom anyone doing that, but Equatorial Guinea was known for human trafficking.

Was Dr. Torres on William Rivas' payroll for tasks beyond her soccer duties?

Maybe he was paying her off. But, was she then using the illicit money to improve the welfare of others?

Arizona hated to believe it was true, but reluctantly she admitted the facts pointed to Dr. Cal Torres being most likely involved in this, in some fashion.

There was one other explanation, the one championed by Maria Rosa that said the orthopedic surgeon was innocently connected to this scheme, an unwitting and naïve accomplice.

But Arizona had a hard time explaining the narcotics, medical supplies and the expensive additions to the clinic. How was Dr. Torres funding that, if not with under the table funds?

First thing Monday she would be following up on Dr. Calliope aka 'Cal' Torres.


End file.
